Only here till’ morning, so the night’s an open road and,
the beaten path only leads to mourning. An off-road traveler,
who escapes the chase of a pursuant sun.
Slow walking through river reeds.
A cupped handful of running water reinforces his state of being;
all but free.
Marathon of miles between, the first date on his gravestone and
the last number his mother reads at the bottom of his eulogy.
The hyphen shorthand for life and,
Missing the meaning through the seams, that connect his first day
to the day he leaves. An often-bereaved purveyor of shattered dreams,
Who stops to smile at every waving tree because,
even in despair he found belief beneath
the bared teeth of the machine trying to syphon from his peace.
A flower born from concrete.
Escaping through the cracked city streets;
out past the horizon line.
The dash between dates, holds all our memories. Tip-toeing on the edge of a tightrope.
