Think I’ll put everyone in the car and head east, where the sky is bigger
than city-lock and infill; make a double wish along the double yellow
for anyone who can’t see showers carrying too much of our weight
on their slim, burning shoulders; the scripted sky, a leftover light.
Shed our unrefined ways, sentences that don’t complete.
Handshakes caught in pockets. Connect and blaze with the effort.
Out in the open like picnic blankets, we pin our squares down
with heads and heels and hearts, remember who we were before.
Taste the wealth of dust.