Paper Roads

I.
(In sleep I mourned him for the first time. Got stuck
in that frail moment after action, before pain,
tears running through the gaps in my fingers.)
The roads changed that morning, as they would with the weather,
but I still try to go the same ways. Past the horses
that are ghosts when fenced. Use eyes I never knew
as my tongue buries itself to oppose surrender.
How stupid of me to follow a dream, where he
was still dead, and his sister in trouble.
She is nameless; vanished.


II.
So, I go the same way on different roads. Softness
falls away, so I feel acutely and refuse
the universal touches that obstruct time.
Walking out from the cemetery. Into the woods —
careful not to slip on the frozen mud. The grave is lost,
the woods shrivel 'til the cars seem to run
straight into the trees, and through me.


III.
Lowly take the roads — to feel free, I fail. In the trees
it is cold, the tarmac is booming, but like light
we settle anywhere; adjust or accept. Then hope
that everyone will be alright. Unable to forget ourselves.