Distances.  I wonder sometimes about people who live their whole lives in the county where they were born, folks from around here, for instance, for whom their farthest destination was a road trip to the closest gulf coast beach town.  All the numbers on their speed dials share their area code.     How many of my places am I far away from?  How many home ZIP codes have I forgotten?  A half dozen states and out of the country a third of my life. So many people left behind.  I wonder about them, too, sometimes, try to imagine them appropriately aged.  Lovers especially.  There are telescopes now that can see the beginning of time, distances measured in compounded eons, taking fantastic celestial photos of what once was as seen through the clarity of the empty space around us.  And the music of the spheres?  Tinnitus—the sound of living alone.