the door is still ajar and there is still a lamp lit and hue spills out in a straight line where I follow markings on the sides of highways to forget how I won't forget the impression you leave on the sidewalk through season after passage of next to brightlit stripmalls somewhere with snowcapped mountains and lakes and lakes and lakes away know I'll probably miss you
when streetlights burn down when stoplights wear out I'll be out on the ocean you'll find me in hillsides on indian summer mornings or in rain flecks on train windows winding trails around provinces I'll never figure out how to pronounce you won't miss me