January Tenth  

Somebody is going away

He spreads his wings over

the brittle nest of breath

as if respiration

were just a measure of time

Somebody is going away

into the dark sack of the earth

as if light were

just a matter of choice

He extinguishes his star

on the roof of the world as

he crosses the river with empty mouth

Somebody steps to

the other side as if

he were exiting at an unfamiliar

railway station

I lay my head

on the tracks

Quietness runs over me