I’ll still first go to the window when I wake.
I can stay at it all night, unnerved by the same old ache
And never two alike. That sky that is a lake,
Elided by trees and ambient neighborhood light,
Eludes me—like driving towards some vacation site
And damned if this route is right. This can’t be right,
I know, this looking to get away to the lake,
Thinking I can make it there. I know I can’t make
It come to me, but I think that’s what it’ll take.