The sad music of roads lined with larches.
The forest in the distance resting under snow.

The Khyber Pass. Alexander the Great.

The nights are very unclear here.
But if the moon is full, we know it.
We feel one thing one minute,

In a little patch of ground beside
the wall of the Earth Sciences building,
a man in a canvas hat was on

Now that you’ve gone away for five days,
I’ll smoke all the cigarettes I want,
where I want. Make biscuits and eat them

They’re alone at the kitchen table in her friend’s 
flat. They’ll be alone for another hour, and then
her friend will be back. Outside, it’s raining—

Where this floated up from, or why,
I don’t know. But thinking about this
since just after Robert called

Driving lickety-split to make the ferry!
Snow Creek and then Dog Creek
fly by in the headlights.

What a rough night! It’s either no dreams at all,
or else a dream that may or may not be
a dream portending loss. 

Cynical millenarian, I like
You in this shot, posed without
Insignia or emblems,

I crisscross my feelings with a view  
of street, people walking, some crazy looking, from a window