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.