I let my feet sink
into the cool mud.
It reminds me of my cheek
sliding past yours,
familiar.
Winter air
engulfed us.
Your station wagon coughed exhaust.
I wonder of life, wide and cyclic.
How many times
will I watch the same roads pass
before finding
my true destination?
Following the weaving path
to the highway,
our soles stamped
quietly into the earth.
Heavy with the knowledge
that cars still moved
blurry
onward,
and we, stumbling
searching
for things we did not know.
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