You who say you are on the road:
There is no road, only
Your own footprints. Where you
Go is the only road, nothing else.

Into geology of exile, home implodes. / The ground, incorrigible. / Ether shifting in its vicissitudes of letting go. / Somewhere, the karst. / Out and frayed apart decants the silt from another era. / I cannot keep you safe.

I am not Athena, but what has unzipped and stepped
out of the coat of her body, which now sags
on the floor. Let me grab you by the hand, lead you
to the stage, lift the coat, pinching its lapels
between my fingers. Let me invite you to slip

shade of García Lorca, what are you doing here,
hidden in the deepest cubicles? / and you, Perlongher?
here we are / looking at images

Where is my brother? I am stunned,
starving, staring into the mirror
in the hopes of seeing a face other than mine
gaze back. Where is my brother?