A poor boy promised me a textbook view
           of the stars.  No snaking city lights
                       from a crown of downtown buildings,

Medusa-like in their paralyzing beauty.
           He drives the dark highway
                       and I hold him to his word, he turns    

onto a roughly paved hillside.
           Stiff black trunks and treetops wave
                       goodbye from the roadside.  Visions of policemen

in orange reflective vests
           pulled by search dogs for a scent,
                       a scrap of cloth, follows me into the field.

He places a hand on the dip of my back
           to guide me, like Hades, into his world.