even now i am there. sitting on the far right back seat that you just quite but almost can't see. i'm in your right front pants pocket. at that spot on the inside of your left wrist where the blood might have been pumping under a watch face, if you wore one. i am the sound of compression breaks. the slow dull voice over-head calling out stops. all the way home. i am the familiar scent you always find at the same time foreign and familiar when you fold back the sheets and climb into bed. i am--each and every--September morning.