of here there’s a lake banked 
by spired sand, but I’ve stood 
at its edge thinking only 
of an ocean

and of where to put my heart, in what
nouns. And, like a small, mathematical proof,
the train ride through Greece 
that almost didn’t end;

then Thessaloniki: the stray cats 
and the drunk kids laughing 
all night outside 
the hostel window, smoking, 
touching one another 
with their voices.