I imagine myself not here, but where? Perhaps on that field
I can see from my window, a creature alone in damp cornfield
Stubble, staring at nothing, bent on unhearing the trucks on
The road. Willfully lost, like someone in a mist, feeling no urge
To make my way out or be found, I'd stay until sunset, unmoving
And mute, relieved to have been freed from here.