It’s hard not to see myself
appearing in that movie,
the one where I’m driving at night,
staring at the road.
And I can’t say there are two people with me
when I know they’re downstairs sleeping.
It’s just me in the kitchen.
Me and two jars of kombucha
fermenting on the green table.
The jars have paper towels
under their lids like little hats
and have the look of two nuns
walking side by side against a breeze.