for Stevie

Krasnoyarsk and Beyond

Time is no longer tyrant, but sits alongside us,

stating itself, if at all, in stations. The train clock

is stuck on Moscow time, at growing odds with the sun.

 

My brother is following me on Google Earth

but where I am is here, and relentlessly here. Beyond Krasnoyarsk

grass has gone to seed, gone to hay, seen

 

and gone and seen. Gone.

Heave at a door. Stand in the undone hurtle and swing

and let Siberia hammer itself home to your skeleton’s core.