The car slowly passed, back and forth,
then at last crept up our half-washed-out
driveway. An electric window slid down.
“We’re looking for Moses Hinkley,”
the driver said. I took off my hat, placed it
over my heart. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hinkley
is no longer with us. And this is not his road.”
What else to say, here in South Wellfleet’s
Bermuda Triangle? That Google is not God?
That GPS in the sky is not grounded in truth?
My father found his way looking up at the stars
and old family maps of various odd states.
I direct myself to places that don’t exist,
give the impression I’m here when I’m not,
go busking down invisible streets in the dunes.
Richard Ewald has published in many genres and is completing work on his first poetry collection. He lives in South Wellfleet and Putney, Vt.
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