Our Old Place

Peeling letters of my thoughts behind the envelope,
I don't feel like I'm driving,
But stop signs are attended to and the sky
Still swirls your favorite blue.
I rehearse my past, right blinker, then under the bridge,
Past the train station, down this longish residential road.
My smile waves to the policeman and I hope he doesn't notice my overdue inspection sticker.
Floating, billowing -- this road, I used to use it so often.
I abandoned you, and yet somehow you are fine, maybe even improved.
I park, cross the street, and look to go inside our old place.