Sometimes on the interstate at night,
when there are blurs of reds, oranges,
and fading light,

I weep in the dark,
along the mountain highways,
I used to pass,
over hills and valleys,
to express love at last.

I have given up on love,
on waiting for sweet comfort,
for a gentle hand in return,
instead I grip tightly to
the remaining coals that burn,
deeper than my tear stained
cheeks,
deeper than the muddy mountain creeks,
overflowing my heart so the hurt could be lost within.
I wish for a moment of time,
once again,
when my name on your lips was
sweet,
like the memories,
not soiled,
but treasured, the way a child is held at his mothers breast,
so gently cradled,
even if stillborn.