Dream Song 326.5

A Poem by Anon ymous

I want to stay true north, follow your footsteps; drive
to the sea, to the horizon; unzip the blue from the sky,

walk in the sand. Navigate using the slopes of barns,
faded red angles drooping under a March sun; turn

the radio all the way down, listen for the small sound
of your voice; an echo in the asphalt. Doing seventy,

I feel the weight of grey tug at the wheels, watch
thin mile markers scarecrow the path to a city buried

on a hill. Its streets and bridges pocked with gravel,
loss; broken pieces from a fallen moon.

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