It is Tuesday
& the air is colder than piano keys;
the trees are thick
& the bramble has frozen still.
Everything is dead but you.

Men in dark coats
with unwound hearts
sitting in fast passing cars
with sugar glazed windows.
Everything is here but you.

Maps of this town will stretch to the horizon &
stay as irrelevant as ever.
They will
stay in glove compartments and coat pockets because
everything is lost but you.