What if the mind doesn’t like to be followed
all the time. Every morning, the pen noting
it went here, it went there. Maybe it’s tired
of the hand, that paparazzo in the bushes,
always waiting for it to form an interesting
thought. And consider: on an evening stroll,
when it seems to forget the word streetlight
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or the name of that old acquaintance,
who’s to say it’s not trying to buy a little time,
give us the slip for a while. Don’t we all want
to walk out of the house alone sometimes,
think our own thoughts? Even the interior life
needs an interior life.