Soul racer

  Tearing a new scar in the land

  as we cruise, burning through time

  like exhaust, eager to reach

  the white doors and days.

  Sometimes the car drives itself,

  shifting gears and lanes as our souls speed,

  breaking limits left and right.

  You let me drive

  a time or two, my timid beginning

  eclipsed by the freedom of the road,

  the freedom of being myself

  with you.

  My heart drives past construction

  three year’s old, revs through the tangled,

  broken streets of some sad, ugly part of town,

  and sets a course for you.

  Hands on the wheel,

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  eyes on the road,

  mind on you like headlights

  coursing through tunnels,

  opening on radiance

  that frightens,

  excites,

  inspires like God.

  Death of wasted time

  The act of traveling with you,

  not just the act of arriving.

  Let’s drive awhile,

  get lost in the range clawing the sky,

  peaks we only notice when we look up

  and through the glass and grit.

  Hold my hand as the car holds

  the road like a lover,

  taking twists and turns

  like a professional dancer,

  diver.

  Let’s go there,

  searching for pinecones

  in the early snow of October

  at the feet of the mountains.

  We found it all good,

  a relationship created on travel—we’re going places.

  Moving forward

  like the steady streams of water,

  breaking through dams.

  Moving upward

  like the steady flight of butterflies,

  crossing the world.

  Nothing to wait for, everything to find,

  walking the oceans with you.