Its just me and you and everything in front of us, or behind
     especially if gravity operates like chemicals.
Let's go exploring, if you'd like,
     or sit like lumps and metastasize on chocolates.
The stage, the fame, the beer, the strife,
All the things we wanted don't matter in that
     wonderful white space ahead. This hill can trail
     off to the worlds we'll create, so utterly shapeless
     – impossibly white –
     yet filled with color and sound and romp.

The airplane we rode, just the first or last few frames of the film
     (you should start wherever you want)
     it had the new world in its sights to open up the stodgy filth
     and land us tumbling into the great unknown.
We walk ill-prepared, like our fathers,
only so far as what they know.
     A harsh word.

These legs will take me to Tøyengata or Nieve or Las Ramblas
and that street to the river
to the train or the bus
to a frozen tube of horrifying humanity
to land on familiar runways in New York or Albuquerque
     catch you in your mother's Civic
     and bound away.

Where we'll speak – concisely.

That's where intimacy lies: in codes and twitches,
     and very little soft sweet words;
     and, the more we love the less we say,
     'cept to remind each other we're ready to go cartograph again.
Then speak endlessly, drunk in each other's words, and move brazenly, tromp the neigh-sayers and know-it-alls,
stumble our way across frail little ropes,
sprint through orchards to catch smoke.
     Through the door, into bed.
     past the last frame.
     past that sweet little line –
     to let this placid chaos slide down the hill
     and trail off
          into madness.

I'll be waiting by the sleds.
You know what to do.