A DISTANT ROAD
You cannot see the end of that dusty, dirt road.
It stretches far away through a dusky indigo. I remember that path in a distant memory lapse, of a distant little town in the fading, brittle light. Dreams of sailing my bike through the quiet, trembling wind, I whip up golden leaves of skeletons thick and thin. It’s like a bittersweet memory full of tender longing, for a song half-forgotten on a tape old and broken. Waiting to remember is a pain cold as December. Tight is my own heart, straining to think backward. But all I can see is that dusty, dirt road, reaching far, far away into a broken indigo. |