There's a door...
There's a door into the
dark, one gets used to it.
One gets used to everything: houses
and expensive clockwork. One can
sit on the steps and think about
trains that are leaving the great
stations in Europe. Gloves
left behind. The scent of phlox. There's
a rustling outside the circle of light: creatures
are passing. With love I
remember the untidy little towns with
optimistic names along the highway in the
purple evening across the prairie. Harsh sun
in motel rooms. The safety instructions
on the wall: 'If you are deaf, and your
travelling companion is blind...' I stopped
too long in the forest. I often call
the police, it's not worth calling
the police, that's the way it is.