Dec 7

We visit the polish church down the street
and here the blue dome is so tall
it is bad for my heart.
Distance like that is too much
of a reminder.

Paris, a small farm in Germany,
none of us know exactly where
our friend is going
and neither does he
except for the name of the airport
and that he'll have to hitchhike.
He's used to it, the car pulling off
while he's still got one foot
on the pavement.

Slowly we'll get used to the absence
like a man adjusting the antenna,
circling the signal,
rewarded with a bit of a song,
making do.

He'll be on a highway or
a backroad, singing loudly
to the radio, a song he heard,
originally, in Chicago.