Perspective draws, beneath low skies,
any self-obscurer’s centre
of all-speaking gaze: you enter
and the seamless gate is gone. Lies

ahead the dawn. Make no mistake,
there’s no free-will in this. It’s cold
enough, this place where places break
upon the sight, and inward fold

upon the road that I call I
beneath that unimagined sky.





A Road Assumed