We lost it,
the road trickling away into the trees,
across from your old apartment.
Watching it over the rims of coffeecups, we wanted to follow it.
Our eyelids ached for new worlds.
I got lost, and was lost, and I lost.
I was paper-snowflake-full of loss.
I got on buses just to forget my stop.
I wanted to follow roads past their last logical destination,
as though their ends would be
new languages in new mouths,
or a time machine
or the sea.
Oh deliver me from stale circles,
the cul-de-sac scars of suburbia.
Oh deliver me from hallways of
doors slammed shut,
oh deliver me
from intricate mechanics of locks.
I opened my own window, climbed right into
the sky, and the omniscience of satellites.
I saw that road in winter;
saw it fade out fast in the small patch of woods
next to the drab rectangles of strip malls.
I was too young to remember when I first saw the ocean,
but know how to wait for it,
pushing small feet through sand,
handfuls of grass scraping through fingers.
We wanted the most when we had the least,
climbing across the inches,
eyes closed and throats dry.
At the top, the horizon unfolded itself,
and our bodies disappeared.
Our thirst faded, emptying out our eyes.