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.