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.