Life is Elsewhere

I reached across the shelf for a book of poetry.

Milan Kundera pointed out that Life is Elsewhere,

not in a poem, or in this room, not in this city

or this mind,

yet elsewhere.

I seek it, this elsewhere

even far from the beautiful mountains,

the bike path and this room filled with radiant

sun bouncing off yellow walls late in the afternoon.

life is so short and he says

it's elsewhere,

with a new preface,

the cover illustration of a dog in a suit

looking across a forest of a woman's 

torso and breasts, her chin tilted towards 

the sky.

maybe she is looking elsewhere.