Page 22 of Wayfarers

the Amex right now in Dawn’s pocket,

and okay, fine, I laugh a little

thinking about how

those two were made for each other.

Knox Three A.M.

Not noise, but the absence

of it outside the skin

of my shoplifted Ozark Trail tent

snapped me awake, the way

you can see a plane against

the night sky by the black ghost

of its silhouette.

In planning my escape, I’d thought more

about the things I knew

how to do than the things I didn’t,

like sleeping alone. I stir

my ebbing fire, the embers glittering

like closing your eyes tight

and facing the sun,

the night coiled vast

and suffocating around me.

Before drifting off, I’d tried to call

to mind the Girl’s face, to

engineer some dream scenario

where we got to talk a little

longer. But that rarely works and instead

I’d been dreaming of my mamaw’s house—

its cool basement with a low

ceiling and concrete floor and the smell

of mildew, cases of Diet Coke and shelves