I am still
But mile markers flee
Nausea chases each counted pole
Through barren brush and dirt
I find you
Nestled in fleeing sage
Full of life, but dead to me
Like yellow asphalt stripes
Counting you just hurts
All roads led to you
I rode them with tight shut sight
Then you shut yours:
Crashing was inevitable
Now watch the road spill,
Fold beneath glazed eyes,
Melt through heightened eyes and lips
Balance tipping sunburned fence posts
You held my heart
Urging return with tender touch
I ignored stomach’s sick pull
Raced into the warmth of Provo rain
I force mind to sleep, heart to numb
Time nods off, drifts to the shoulder
Each excused escape brings life
From you; from motion
Rusty red car halts for you
You’ve moved; making me take stairs.
All I am is a borrowed book --unfinished,
I return it with the plastic bag
I used when motion sick.
~DaLe 6.15.09
