loose sky fallen into bruise
I put down my hitchhiking sign
wait for dawn at a gas station
I work mink oil into my boots
and talk about the early snows
sketch in ballpoint a stranger’s face
on the last page of the book of elegies
I have been carrying around
I’m trying to find where influence end
a force emigrant in spirit
forget the old language
silent and defeated
to see the original inquiry was too small
a child passes into an empty house
passing into uncertain encounter
what will save me is the taste of miles
dirty under midnight’s skillet
the west has helped me listen to myself
the west is a place that kills and kills and kills