I rolled by without a pause. I had been
Here before or close enough to pretend
It was a stable place, the same space
In passing. I remembered as best I could
What I had done with that time I had paused.
Taken a short hike. Spoken with a ranger.
Driven back out to the main road
And pumped gas. Driven on. Driven home,
As I then conceived it. What is a monument
If not a recreation of the lost? This time,
Under brilliant blue skies and with nothing
But time to kill before I died, I rolled by.
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