I’m curling on redemption.
It is your pretty face.
Past desertscapes and clear blue sky,
this is the presence of your face.
In New York City
you were remarkable before all the trash.
And again, among the farmlands and broken tractors
of North Texas.
But you’ve taken yourself back to that destitute city,
I guess because you think it’s easier
to be lost amongst the trash.
It’s easier to live without a home or reference there.
The oligarchs go there to destroy the world.
The residents ask privately for forgiveness.
But, the pine forests are always waiting in the future.
And a moon in the midnight floats aloft across the sky,
where your dreams are there waiting
with children sleeping in a car, journeying on a mountain road
towards something quite beautiful.