We would reply: Simon-Dach Straße
In broken german; steep infliction,
As if asking a question to a question.
Then, it was night— it always was
When we’d arrive, replenished, tired
From foreign familiarities, certainties.
I just remember how dark it would be—
The autobahn, so lightless and so vast,
Like when the moon would chase me—
We’d hold hands, as I searched for lights.