No need to be first,

no care for right, I ask 

the privilege of knowing you 

unlike anyone has. 

Your sanctum for mine. 

Your thoughts in real time, 

and a necklace of blue grapes 

to make bitter wine as dusk bleeds over Zurich 

and dogs’ ears dial to slow taxis—

---

I take the ziggy lane, 

sheets hung from shudders, 

and grin for my imaginings that even so burst the chill

that’s plastered the laundry overnight. We’re far from winter.

We’re gemsbok with the sun between our horns 

and a bed of sand and rust that begs 

to be melted into a caketopper.

---

The glare of Horus turns the world ceramic,

and kilned and cracked for fantasy,

I go home to be broken in pleasant dreams.