but cannot see to read it; my fingers race from here
to there, to where. To courage. To getting out of the car
and walking, running, building up breath and muscle.
If only the road hadn't been poured into hills, valleys,
twists, and turns. If only the above weren't a fragment,
like this, like our hope of God and salvation.
If only legs and breath lasted longer. At least the road
keeps going, as if it will outlive us,
as ifjust by moving we'll soon be somewhere else.
I bank on this as I place one shoe in front of the other.
They're on it. They're getting somewhere.
Let's be sure to meet there;
we've missed each other so.
