I could not find my Ativan,
the noon dose.
I keep it on my car keys so I can find it
but I couldn’t find it
even though I had a clear memory
of dropping the keys on my pants
before I went to bed.
But that memory,
as clear as it was,
or at the very lease superseded,
or old, or useless,
and I was again climbing the stairs
looking for the stock bottle,
again taking the Noon dose with Root Beer
with a sense that something
important had come apart.
This is when they start fluttering.
This is when the migration started,
when it finally broke loose.