Jake's Flea Market

stay the night and wake with me

the morning’ll come it’ll be
in the deep of winter

there’ll be snow
on the black branch outside the window

while you pull your boots on
i’ll step out and start the car

i’ll brush the snow from the windshield and when you come
we’ll sit and share the vision

i’ll turn the heater on and when you come
we’ll sit and get warm together

we’ll sit on the front seat
like the two sides of the car’s private mind we’ll be
desire and memory we’ll be
dream and afraid we’ll 
argue our two selves into one harmony we’ll
tell ourselves the things we tell ourselves are
interesting or
even brilliant we’ll 

observe how the cleanpage street
lies before us
unprinted through five or six intersections it’ll be
perfect to the t it’ll be
the journal of history not yet happened it’ll be
waiting to be written to the street’s end we’ll say  

look there’s
no footprint of the thousands of years of walking man there’s
no hoofprint of the hundreds of years of riding man there’s
no tireprint of the tens of years of driving man we’ll say

look to us
is fallen
the white opportunity
to tireprint
a first record 

but the morningtime’ll be a traffic that passes that packs
the marks we make into obscurity
and will you remember us
when the drivers who follow our tracks in the highnoon thaw
give us no recognition

and will you remember us
when the snowmelt washes the record of our coming our being our going
away in the afternoon

and when tomorrow’s evening grows short and full as autumn and bare
will you remember us