It always began with an early drive.
When the ripples of colors cracked the horizon
and opened the door to the heavens, and ash and stars
fell upon our heads through the frigid pink of a winter’s morning.
I followed the road to its end,
to cut through space and be led from one world to the next.
Under the influence of sleep I’d imagine:
being carried by the wind
down to the river
across the bridge
and blown up towards the sky,
distancing myself in between breezes
like an exhaled breath blown far,
or a kite.