UBI AMOR IBI OCULUS EST
“No one is on your side. What will you do?”—Fleur Adcock
Flumes of the late night
21st-century Tzigane
In the tall desert wrong
Even after rain. The white
Asphalt gleams. The car radio
Insists upon race anger
Keen as weather and warfare
But with a heaven to get to,
A shock of empty meadow.
The essential of myself is out there
Walking, aimlessly. Meanwhile,
I drive slowly, keeping the spectral
Gypsy flumes fixed in the mirrors.
A scroll of high sound, suddenly,
Like outrage out of nowhere,
Like God in the beginning, from nowhere,
Breaks into the car. I can see
The mirrors blackened and the radio empty.
