Distance in Statute Miles

On maps it always takes

The same position: away from the coastline,

Two inches below

The mountain range. But the man

Who is turning the page doesn’t know

That it is flat as a blade, more

Vulnerable than a child, inaccessible

By road or air. It is in front of me.

I can see the towers

From my window, I call out

And it responds to its name,

It is easily frightened.

This is a winter afternoon and the sun

Makes unequal rectangles

Of light in each courtyard, by evening

The birds will again be visible.

Far from us, near the river

That was once leased out to fishermen,

A small East German tractor is sending up smoke.