WE HAVE COME FROM BRIAN'S HOUSE

 We said like two angels visiting a garden,
Like two aliens from a star. The snow softened

The ice but we still drew circles with our shoes
All the way down that road, crested with bare oaks,

Spider-jewelled in lamplight. There were no cars that night.
We found the mumbled blare— a family playing

Trumpets, harps and horns. The sound rubbed up against their
Windows. The sound crept out the door and fell on snow.

We had no classes to go home to, no essays
On ancient history or algebra, no textbooks 

Cracked open over the shipping forecast, just
The knowledge that once we stepped off this street

It would be locked in its own universe forever.