From No Wake
The snowflakes taxi. The full moon coolly
punctuates its own fantastic, howls the ohs
of its own vowels. The firemen stop for directions.
The children light cigarettes and wish
they had invented their own feelings.
The explorers who discovered only oceans
we cannot name. In the distant universe
there are things older than the light
that illuminates the firmament, a place where every
thought is a kind of unmarked car,
where women wait inside the revolving door
with a spritz of perfume and a secret
for some newer side of ourselves
we will recognize only in what little it will admit.