a black camera and leather case over a world map

The drive back felt long,

as if the hour and forty 

minutes had multiplied,

the miles adding to themselves

as time and distance elongated

by recollections whole and fragmented.

I drove the roads I know and it 

was like digging in a mine where

someone was yelling, “Get out 

of there!” and I yelled back, “Not

yet!”  the exchange tinted with some

unknown but felt fear that later

might conclude by some logic

beyond my understanding though 

nothing I could deny.  I drove and drove

and drove.  Pulled into my driveway, 

an hour forty-five but it felt like time

out of eternity, that reckless disregard 

of time and place to be in what is called             

now, memories the cartographers used making

the map as I drove. They waiting as I got

out of the car, unlocked the front door 

and entered before I did.