road hymn

a poem for you

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Shaped in sand, these days.
The doom is on us, a nation of fear
sweeping back its hair to squint
up at the angle of the sun.
The proud kindnesses dwindle
to the smallest of acts, penny nails
into planks. The gasket breaks.
“One foot in front of the other.”

The road stretches on to its end,
the T: a choice, but not a choice.
The preacher calls out to the wilderness
seeking whom he may devour.
All of our loneliness gathers in his eyes.
When he died he opened them.

This road is the only road,
and the only hope — small and steady hope —
lies in the unseen country ahead.
Make it past the desert, the mountains,
the broken-down vehicles and busted
families. The heat in each heart
requires a careful touch. Turn the cap,
let out the steam, don’t burn yourself.

Pour in whatever water you have left,
then lift it to your lips. Kiss away the dust
and take it with you, on and on again,
eating up the hours, feasting on the miles.

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