a river arrives
behind the barbed wire & each window
her loins root red in deep clay
hillsides burst
bags of all-purpose flour
and the yellowing day finally collapses
while the ceiling asks & the bed answers
"you will never get there"
the cows are slow
and below the shadows of their hats
brims a diversion
lifting one palm
as if to say, "you're welcome"
we always pass
leaving the beaches,
the clouded space, the unnamed towns
ahead
like the cow
i don't have a country to go to
there is no table for us
to drink honey
like this moment
without a watch
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