I am jogging with George.
We are running along a country lane.
We don’t talk. He is slightly
ahead. There is a hedge
on the left. I feel like he wants
to go that way. I might want
to go that way, too. He turns
left, right into and through
the hedge, which is velvety
and dense like a dream. Maybe
it will work for me. I turn. It is
thick and sticks to me
like flesh. I emerge slowly,
can barely move, have hedge
all over me like caterpillar
fur or armor or a new layer
of me. George is moving well ahead
up a path between the lawns
of two old properties. He is
nearing the trees. With effort
I pull off a few clumps.
My stride and breathing loosen.
I catch up and we run
blithely through the woods.
Went to the old apartment on Bedford.
It was gutted on the inside.
Walls torn out. New beams put in
in the basement. I used the old keys.
She comes in. I say something. She runs away.
I have to explain myself to myself
and leave. Across the street is the diner
everyone goes to. I am sure to see
the people I met earlier there. Or is it
a cemetery? I come to the town square
and start driving around it. The huge trees
on the green hang over the road.
She is on the green. I see her from
the side. She is on her way, striding even,
under the trees. This time when I go
around the square the car is out of control,
starts to slide off the road into the dark,snow-covered arms of the trees.