Driving up mountain miles
of washboard switchbacks;
jarring the dusty rearview mirror
in my mind:
"but don't look back in anger"
... I heard you say
stuck in the cloud of dust
befogging my daydream
back somewhere thereabouts
the washed out bridge
that tore us apart
like a flash flood
It was so long ago
since you were running
and I was hiding in plain sight,
from what the storm
in my eyes did tell
Mindful — you were only watching
the growing distance gather;
finding what you didn't lose
looking back to see
what you can't forget —
like a hesitant child
reluctantly wondering
if anyone was still looking back
at you ― still running away
from each passing storm
Jesse Stillwater
June 2018