her pavement mouth lax and wet.
the East yawns
rubs dark eyes.
i speed out between them
making out tree lined fields, water towers.
a vagrant moon watches over their disordered awakening.
the land stretches,
unknotting from his dreams,
unstacking his arms from under his head,
and sticking his calves out straight to spread his cool toes.
finally, the road rocks her shoulders forward, then back,
trying to shake the humid sleep from her eyes,
and rests her hand on her lover's back.
i roll down the windows -
not enough.
i borrow my father-in-law's convertible -
less.
i saddle the motorcycle from the book i just finished last night -
less. and faster
i am Jonathan Livingston, wings braced against my side.
august 18ish, 06
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