Today I ran through a white autumn field
stretched over a computer screen
and scattered with pieces of love,
like accidentally laundered tissues.

They packaged this field in a white pharmacy
where they also sold gift wrap and Grow-A-Human-Foot toys
and where an old woman picked up insulin syringes
while her dog sat on the carpet and barked.

Everywhere people help you. They give you your change
and explain wood screws and remind you that cows
require happiness. The white fields grow golden yellow.
Windows close for the night. We breathe shallowly,

For other days to run, and other fields to catch us
that we will never understand, not here
nor there, but always reflected in our white faces.