we are on our travels withthe remains of conversations we almost had,promises cracked through the middle,wrapped in the cloth that blinds us
there are so many realities of us,a decade full of crests and troughs,a steady progression of waves and bodies,flesh loosening,aging,the crow’s feet around my eyes,the subtle lethargy in my breasts,my youth come and gonelike a song that disappearsas a car with the radio blaringpasses us by on the open road,
and you look new still
let’s take a diverging walk now –some furlongs on footand you will meet a small gap in the asphalt,we can fall through it and come out on the other side –one lurch and a blink,and we will cross oceans and icebergsto be reborn –ourselves again in the native land,our eyes feasting on cotton crops and sugar cane andtilled fields
you say nothing –it’s just as well,here, on our journey,language has no powerand we haven’t crossed over yet
two thousand ears of corn…two thousand earsscattered in the oceantheir tympanic membranesvibrating still,and voices taking shape,murmuring like ghosts convalescing on waves
this ocean, this night, with youis a formidable place –we are on our travels still,we are on our travels
Image: Image: Flickr, “It’s not the end of the world” by username: Jeremy Kunz (jkunz), under the Attribution 2.0 Generic license.