if an hour allows I’ll walk you this road
is a brilliant black stars all blossom
as clouds part to a background of radios
from windows playing songs about how soon
you’ll stroll your soft footprints back through rain’s
slack paint (figuring oil is important
to mark such an occasion) parting’s
not always sorrow just a putdown
all this talk to carry on loving
wind grips to its roots and lifts midnight
as if a lamp burns and back at your flat
initiations into marginal
communication light too much
simply our distant lands dark boots falling