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.