It was never there and already it’s vanishing

City unhealthy pale with pictures of

Cemeteries sifting on its windows

Its planets with wind in their eyes searching among

The crosses again

At night

In dark clothes

It was never there

Papers news from the desert

Moving on or

Kip in go their

Voices

The river flowing past its other shore

Past the No Names the windows washed at night

And who is my

Name for

In my pocket

Slowly the photographs becoming saints

Never there

I put out my hand and the dark falls through it

Following a fag

Gutters made in my time rounded with

The wounded in mind

The streets roped off for the affectionate

Will do for the

Mutilated

If I

Lie down in the street and that smoke comes out of me

Who

Was it

It was a night like this that the ashes were made

Before that

Was always the fire