Sam paused on the stairs. He had forgotten a thing.
In Leland’s room a copy of Thomas Merton lay on the floor.
The air was full of gnats of possibility. What was the story?
Sam looked at the clock twice. The day was dropping
softly away while Sam’s sneakers made the wood stairs creak.
The wood was sure it was wood. Alice got home from the store.
The bags had to be unloaded as the day went and went.
Then the sundown kitchen grew quiet.
Sam crossed his legs one way, then the other way. He had chosen
purple corduroys. They were pants of the day; one possibility.
On the tilted table sat the damaged typewriter.
What about Thomas Merton? Did he know the central story?
Someone was quietly reading by the fireplace but not Sam.
Next day there was badminton with the troubled carpenter
and the story of an awful egg salad, causing laughter;
but Sam had forgotten some thing. Then Alice brought in
the brownies and minor pleasure colored the house

and there went the evening. J.J. came downstairs
all gleamy from her bath. She had three reasons to get downtown fast.
Sam picked up a novel by Sukenick. The clue must be nearby.
Between Sam and the page swarmed the gnats of possibility.