July 2

Hard quiet and train whistles mingle
and chill like breezes on wet bodies
that haven't yet learnt the warming
that comes with near-total submersion.

Chew in your sleep, snort
refuse to sit up for your glass
of water on diamond dust shoes
and talks of cartography,

as you resolve to study more
and ask for a ticket back to something
more than an itinerary, more
than a warping of the surrounding

city-scape you replace, not taking it
into yourself-- but reflecting it
and being consubstantial and closed,
long gone like late trains that still

need to shout, still call to yapping
backfiring cars, topical, tired.