Sickness relies on what you told her

I take a credit card
from my wife’s pocketbook
take her car keys too
and leave the house.

Somewhere along the block
Faure’s requiem plays loudly
from an open window
as a man pulling two badly-bred dogs
goes by, bent over to one side
as though experiencing a personal gale.

Driving to the stop sign
I’m having an instant of everything
when connections both past and present
coagulate and, paradoxically, diminish.

On Cherry Avenue, decelerating
I’m overwhelmed, sobbing.
Where is it that I’m going
on this New York summer night
grown cold enough to kill snakes?