Disappearing

People always find you.

They’ll find the napkin
you shredded in a diner in New Jersey.
The red light you drove through
a few miles north of there.
The tree you leaned against
at 3 in the morning.

These people are unscrupulous;
they’ll make the pieces fit.

You cannot even trust the night.
Someone walking in the opposite direction
will recognize your face with its tired grin.
He’ll pin you down in your new neighborhood
like a butterfly in the wrong country.

To disappear
you must move among them at noon.
Be gentle with their daughters.
Wear shoes that leave discernible tracks.

Learn to speak a few words well,
and they may believe you
when you tell them
you have been here all along.


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