So you’ve been nowhere? I have,

but not nowhere. It could be Abkhazia,

the land of the first letters, where men

lay railways at night, upwind, and then

they wonder. Keep a photo of that

pin – up girl pink with blue in map cases,

other sacred pictures they put against the walls.

They throw stones at pigeons, angry

that a pigeon swings and soars, and then comes

back home as if nothing happened, not afraid

that it’s not going to like itself any more.

They are shallowly in skin, then deeper

in canvas and in the end that pin – up girl

shows up anyway, shakes off and there’s no trace.