The Road

It's 4AM and he's saying where can we go from here,
and I'm saying where can we get something to eat.
He's saying try to be serious, and I'm saying this isn't the way.

I'm looking at the road. I'm trying to see it.

I'm saying I think I can build something real.
I'm saying I don't know how to get there.
He's saying he thinks there's a vaccine for that.

It was a line or a moment. Either way, it was then and temporary.
Passed. And in time it was nothing more
than a story I'd tell over and over,
with tequila and squinting,
in local dives with stand still faces. In time,
what I said wasn't as relative as the Words I'd remember.
In time,
this would become the road.

And I remember his saying
over and over that eventually
we will all find our own way.
And I remember knowing that isn't the case.
I remember saying, it finds us.

Travel advisory prevents departures
and he's saying maybe we were meant to stay.
I'm saying we should fight harder to go.
And I'm telling him for once
I am sure of the way.

He's saying this is the road that lost him.
This is the highway that lead him astray.
And I'm saying,
all roads,
my love,
go there.

I'm saying I can hear the voices in his head that turn down the blankets and put a mint on the pillow inviting you to surrender and lay down.
He's saying lay down. He's saying surrender.
And I'm saying there's still something more to say.

It went up and down like headlights in the rearview
as he hit the potholes and the cracks in concrete.
He's saying maybe he should slow down.
And I'm saying, I can't be your quota cop. The bump doesn't matter. Go as fast as you need to go.

He's saying this road has no outlet.
He's saying this road only goes one way
He's saying there is no detour.
He's saying you look like an angel in the fading.

And I'm saying I know: The devil told me.

He's saying things like when and once.
And I'm saying, pull over.
I will walk this alone.



-The photo is by Richard Bray, who gave me his permission to post it here with my Words.