Baffled, he looks at me

wondering how I shifted from topic

one to four. He is stuck on the mountain

view mentioned two minutes before

when I spoke of that last vacation,

how when we traveled up the Carolina

mountains near the Blue Ridge

Parkway, the backdrop

of the peaks resembled

a woman lost against the clouds.

Then my brain wandered away

to teaching, how the next

vacation was months from now.

While his eyes journeyed

through the clouds, my fingers

roamed toward essays in need of grading.

I muttered words about students,

their lateness, yesterday’s lecture.

Where are you now? he asked,

shaking his head. Back at school,

I said. Every day—these little deaths,

like when my cousin who wanted

to write closed his eyes for good.

I lose the mountains, the clouds,

the peaceful trip because always

some other task awaits me

and there’s not enough time

to linger at any vista for long.