Could be mountains you choose to drive
through, could be that childhood memory

of the quarry lake you dove into, the scatter
of clouds, then fish beneath your feet.

Could be a hot desert landscape, cruel wind
breathing down the back of your neck.

Could be Manhattan or Dallas, but not
Fort Worth, shrinking in your rearview mirror.

Could be you standing on the beach with the view
of the Atlantic or the Pacific, neither as terrorific

as Lake Michigan in the throes of ice
flows and snow of sub-zero winters.

Could be that hot flash, night sweat, the line
of pines crowding out the starscape.

Could be the moon shining on the railing
Of the fire escape you refused to take.