I had a momentary transplacement today. While driving, I thinking so hard that when I looked up at the bleached corn against the raw winter sky it was like no place I had ever seen and the colors didn't spell out where I was.Nothing will tell you
where you are.
Each moment is a place
you've never been.
--Mark Strand, from Black Maps, Poetry (June 1970), published later in Darker (Atheneum, 1971)