Tags

,

roads wind in your hands

holding deep to the roots

of a lonely gray year

and the crossing of our routes

those sparks crossed California

followed dotted lines on a map

the geography between you and me

was a vast expanse

the currents

the topography across your face

a refusal of apathy

when you leave me in the morning

i’m still your bird

covered with sparks you left

in my nest that night

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