Soul racer


    Tearing a new scar in the land


    as we cruise, burning through time


    like exhaust, eager to reach


    the white doors and days.


    Sometimes the car drives itself,


    shifting gears and lanes as our souls speed,


    breaking limits left and right.


    You let me drive


    a time or two, my timid beginning


    eclipsed by the freedom of the road,


    the freedom of being myself


    with you.


    My heart drives past construction


    three year’s old, revs through the tangled,


    broken streets of some sad, ugly part of town,


    and sets a course for you.


    Hands on the wheel,


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    eyes on the road,


    mind on you like headlights


    coursing through tunnels,


    opening on radiance


    that frightens,


    excites,


    inspires like God.


    Death of wasted time


    The act of traveling with you,


    not just the act of arriving.


    Let’s drive awhile,


    get lost in the range clawing the sky,


    peaks we only notice when we look up


    and through the glass and grit.


    Hold my hand as the car holds


    the road like a lover,


    taking twists and turns


    like a professional dancer,


    diver.


    Let’s go there,


    searching for pinecones


    in the early snow of October


    at the feet of the mountains.


    We found it all good,


    a relationship created on travel—we’re going places.


    Moving forward


    like the steady streams of water,


    breaking through dams.


    Moving upward


    like the steady flight of butterflies,


    crossing the world.


    Nothing to wait for, everything to find,


    walking the oceans with you.