I walked to town seeking poetry.
My first stop was a used book shop.
This was last night.
I browsed the cart of books outside the shop entrance, a selection of whatever titles the owners guessed might steal the eyes of passersby. I found a blank blue cover in the pile. To my surprise, it was a book of poems.
I flipped through the pages and chose a short entry. The words crawled to me, sat down firm like an old dog ready for sleep.
I went inside to buy the book. The woman who rang me up said, “I just put that book out on the cart a few minutes ago!”
“Wow,” I said, “Looking forward to reading it!”
Halfway along my walk home, I realized I missed the whole point, the whole point of the evening.
When I didn’t ask, “Why this one?”