ash, 
James Tate
(1943–2015)@bookstodon @poetry @poet
#poetry #poet #poem #jamestate
https://books.google.co.il/books?id=aLzYEAAAQBAJ
mation on it as yet.” I noticed that he was about to cry. “Well, thanks,” I said. My stomach was sinking. I was certain to be late to work. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to drive on, to see what was out there, and part of me wanted to turn back, though I wasn’t certain of what I would find there. So I drove on for miles and miles, the sand dunes shifting and stirring, and the occasional hawk or buzzard circling overhead. Then the road disappeared, and I was forced to stop, and looked behind me, but that road, too, was gone, blown over by sand in a few seconds. I got out of the car, glad that I had some water with me. I looked around, and it was all the same. Nothing made any sense. I tried to call Harvey at the office on my cell phone. I couldn’t believe when he answered. “Harvey, it’s Carl. 'm out here in this new place. It’s all sand, and there are no roads,” I said. “We’ll come get you,” he said. “But I don’t know where I am, I mean, I don’t even know if it exists,” I said. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carl, of course it exists. Just look around and give me something to go by,” he said. “There’s nothing here. Oh, there was a tunnel some miles back, and a policeman leaning up against his motorcycle. That’s the last thing I saw,” I said.
“Was it the old Larchmont tunnel?” he said. “I don’t know, it could have been. I was lost already,” I said. “Okay, I'm going to come get you. Just stay put,” he said. I waited and waited. And then I just started walking. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I was restless and hoped I might find a way out. I had lost sight of my car and had no idea where I was. The sun was blinding me and I couldn’t think straight. I barely knew who I was. And, then, as if by miracle, I heard Harvey’s voice call my name. I looked around and couldn’t see him. “Carl, Carl, I'm here,” he said. And I still couldn’t see him. “We’ve fallen off. We're in the fallen off zone,” he said. “What? What does that mean?” I said. “We’ve separated. It may be temporary. It’s too soon to tell,” he said. “But where are we. We must be in some relation to something,” I said. “I think we’re parallel,” he said. “Parallel to what?” I said. “Parallel to everything that matters,” he said. “Then that’s good,” I said. I still couldn’t see him, and night was coming on. It was a parallel night, much like the other, and that was some comfort, cold comfort, as they like to say.