Stay in a hotel this year
in a poor part of town, nowhere near
the house in sparkling finery.
Get there late, leave early
bearing dreadful cold respectful gifts:
wireless headsets, jars of cake mix
in the gloom of the afternoon.
Clear your head out in the cold.
You've been lost since you were nine years old.
And the sky gets cluttered up with stars
and other cryptic intimations,
and the circuitous side-streets cross themselves
like superstitious old relations
til you lose, you lose, you lose, you lose your patience.