if an hour allows       I’ll walk you       this road
is a brilliant black       stars       all blossom
as clouds part to a background of radios
from windows       playing songs about how soon
you’ll stroll your soft footprints back through rain’s
slack paint       (figuring oil is important
to mark such an occasion)       parting’s
not always sorrow       just a putdown
all this talk to carry on loving
       wind grips to its roots and lifts       midnight
as if a lamp burns       and back at your flat
initiations into      marginal
communication       light       too much
simply       our distant lands       dark boots falling