Our thoughts have habits
of slow travel
winding weeks making a way
re-establishing the road,
gravel up, each time
keeping it firm
no matter the miles
keeping it straight.
So forgive the wasted time
now that you're here
i'm used to caring for your words
as pilgrims resting from travel
i've put them in my mouth
to keep them warm
i've taken them in my pockets
to keep them awake
and i've kept silent
as they stretch their aches.
Forgive me if my jaw locks
now like a blank page
when you're gone
these powers will return
just when you're out of sight
i'll remember how to curse
and regret not practicing
talk in real time.
But for now even curses
click hollow barreled
until i've filled them up
with that road.
nov 12, 11
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