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