pack yourself a drink and a jacket
for the road will be on cobblestone not gravel
in the city, your home
and me, me
in a motel downtown
bring all your things
and some paper for writing down
who you think you are
you left your windows open
to the swallows and the snow
but this place is hardly empty
except your bedroom dresser drawers
meeting nameless public servants
in the morning with your mail
addressed to a range road near a highway
before the forward down the rail
me, me
in your snow covered yard
bring all your things
and some paper to discard
this is who you are