I found the book, oldRipped in half, sittingOn a dusty shelf, alone. Let me correctMyself — I don’t knowAll that was ripped away. There on the last page, danglingA sentence, unfinishedSimply, “I’m going to” Going where or to what?Not even an ellipsis to sayIt didn’t matter. And still… I remember, fleetinglyThe missing pages, misplacedAnd fumble … More I’m going to