this is the fork where we break.
i broke away in a reflection
of the tipping point
but that was four miles ago
in the place you grew up with
a bendy straw in life elixer
bends in a road away from home.
you will touch my small fingers
and i will sprinkle your cheek.
cupped hands and downturned lips
meet the sun's sword unsheathing
on the curve of the our earth.
call it a marriage if you must-
it all cuts and sets in time.
what is this we call our time,
when yours has become mine?
when we've run our course
it was beautiful, of course
(see we are blind, see how we run)
now we finally see it all,
a clarity through your howling.
i'm moving up to the mountain
straw basket on hips, in tow
while you're growing tomatoes
you're grown up and reflecting
starlight onto my mountainside.
the frostkiss burns your harvest
this year earlier than ever
in the valley where your garden
grew with your flourishing manhood
in the shadow of my mountain home.