the same way our thirty
year broom left us for a stampede
of motorcycles to sweep
clay beaches, there is no knowing
the country above or below
without being in it. Even right
next to the lamppost there on
the map, we're separated
by an impassable wall
of altitude. Rewire that lamp
so somebody knows we're here.
Rewire it, so the birds know,
if the narras allow.