c’mon pilgrim, here are the
drowsy expanses of rusty roofs, you are
still a mystery; still a quiet soul
with sporadic pink hands reaching

last year i was sleepless too
for the same reasons it seems
already & always almost wondering
(strange how things happen)

here in the same star-roofed cars,
the same mazely ballrooms of sound
freezing, wishing
without a single petal to kiss;

you always used to
look me in the eyes when i told you