Lately I am changing houses like sneakers and socks.
Time zones wrinkle off me casually.
I have put aside with the laundry
a row of borrowed kitchens, look-alikes
in which I crack the eggs and burn the toast
but even in Danville, Kentucky, my ghosts
come along, they relocate as easily as livestock

The last grasshoppers
thinner than political prisoners
breast up out of the goldenrod.
They know they are flying into
the end of the journey.