Forget movies, too, the Hollywood trash in which nothing happened
though they were loud and fast, and when they were over
time had passed, which was a blessing in itself. O blessed
is Wong Kar Wai and his cities of blue and rain.
Blessed is David Lynch, his Polish prostitutes juking
to Locomotion in a kitschy fifties bungalow. Blessed
is Jeff Buckley, his Hallelujah played a thousand times in your car
as you drove through Houston, its vacant lots
exploding with wild flowers and capsized shopping carts.
From Ode to Forgetting the Year
by Barbara Hamby