mom found a bouquet in the dinette, anamnesis meant to mortify with wide shut eyes, had I not been marooned and adrift in allusions— on a Vespa on the BQE, a Smart car in Corso Unità, an Emerald City-bound train— I’d be reassured to be alone in bed to resign to perfection, indistinction, whistling windows— things just happen, like farewell hugs, and you, your ways, you, your being you, always you, but then, you, you always leave though you never do, and then,