i am torn pages
from a book
gathering dust
behind the shelf
just broken twigs underfoot
of a marching army
and only gray snow
piled along
i-84
going straight from Phoenix to
nowhere special
i became the wind at
5 a.m.
and the moon
at noon.
i went  unnoticed
this long
i can make it
to the end
without further incident
perhaps the coldness
of crippling exhaustion will be kind
and leave me numb
in my dying day.