the lonely man drives
searching dirt roads to find the river’s gold.
passing passengers and dancers;
he held the best conversations
with those who didn’t speak his words
a tumbling terrace of homes,
twisting trees hugged by a wreath of children resting,
fingerprints faded onto a crinkled map
along the road, the shining smile lured him away
from his paper destination
the galloping hills whispered promises of piling gold,
but the truck driver was lead only by his toes.
turns out the faded map held nothing but memories
an echo of of turquoise laughter and crooked smiles soon to be forgotten;
the gold had been spun into his twinkling travels,
and yet he continued forward in a million different directions,
searching for something he had left behind.
the man who panned for gold,
found it slipping through his fingers.