we are on our travels with
the 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 gone
like a song that disappears
as a car with the radio blaring
passes us by on the open road,

and you look new still

let’s take a diverging walk now –
some furlongs on foot
and 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 icebergs
to be reborn –
ourselves again in the native land,
our eyes feasting on cotton crops and sugar cane and
tilled fields

you say nothing –
it’s just as well,
here, on our journey,
language has no power
and we haven’t crossed over yet

two thousand ears of corn…
two thousand ears
scattered in the ocean
their tympanic membranes
vibrating still,
and voices taking shape,
murmuring like ghosts convalescing on waves

this ocean, this night, with you
is 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.