When a stranger comes along, ill, with
a dirty foot, perhaps running
the card back again
will get you more water. A lump of sugar.
I can only read out what we
get back. I want to travel home already,
the darker band between stars,
the chewed console,
the boar’s shadow spanning the fence-
gap. Does the bandit still watch
you every day in the controlled city?
When I smell that mind I want home.
West of Syktyvkar, June 26, 1986. Light aircraft.