outside the prickling air burned hot
against what we’d left behind and all that we scraped and cupped
ourselves for while trying to catch the last vestiges of someone’s history
their life here and back and somewhere in that hummed and whistled journey
across the plains and valleys and state lines invisible to hunger and thirst
and the pursuit of want and need tomorrow the railroad tracks
will shimmer in the heat of the summer that arrived
as we were heading out of town because as in those things past
we too have someplace we need to go what does it matter
that there are no words to compensate for the longing
and emptiness of the evening’s solitude brought in by the winds
of our own stormy reluctance unwilling to settle for anything less
than what we give in our taking our own words muted by a laughter-less language
rattling bucket-empty like a windmill spinning against a prairie horizon
that does not distinguish between yesterday or tomorrow
them or us his or hers
yours or mine it was what you didn’t say
that caught my attention and how you pressed your lips to the wind
your eyes blazing in the moonless night | 
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