{after the storm}
Alanis is on the radio, and oh,
we’ve got some miles to go and
some old back roads to get to
know with the scent of spent
rain fresh on our skin.
We’ll begin at this corner of the
map here, see? Then we’ll fold
it twice and find someplace new
to be and we’ll sing along all wild
and free, one breath at a time.
I’ll shine the sun on this asphalt
trail and we’ll open our wings and
tip the scales, two dragon warriors
setting sail for a story just the
other side of soon.
And the moon, as the sky goes tie
-dye pink, well, she’ll think about
rising and taking a drink of all the
ebony cauldron ink that will pour
in around her edges.
The road stretches and yawns and
keeps cheering us on and we’re gig
-gling and growing and gunning to
-ward dawn til the sky runs out and
the map’s all gone. Then we’ll sleep.
..
In November, we poem.
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