egress from a brightly lit land (part 3)

i tread these roads with some modicum of trepidation and

neatly stored fear

gathering supplies in wait of the requirement to pursue new roads

with a nuzzle she motions to the horizon as if to

a new purchase or series of bad scenes

when he turns around she

disappears

appears

here there is soft music around the dying fire and

other adornments for sleep to shudder through

the crackling fibers and whispered conversations and

though nothing is secure or steadfast we hum in

unison to the sunlight to come

til it is the middle of night

and one mind might be awake in a sea of muted

voices

alone on this night he finds himself leaving the security of

fabric to find a private surface upon which to
feel the blue air of the evening and ponder curious
calendars yet to be made real in

months that flutter into time made
disturbed and intricate
into a flipbook of hours
of pretty faces and ill-received mentions or malapropisms pasted to
beloved tattooed skins

he communicates to nothing and nowhere in self-interested playlists
merges with his own dishonor
becoming one thing
a mutant of his faith in the ideal and his own
craggy movements through the pride exhibited by strangers with quick
smiles
trust really a peculiar currency always at the ready
bartered handily with the faces that darken these roads and yet

not sure why
the bold reaching of irrational misspent youth has gone black and dry
he is old now
as grasslands frozen gold in repetitions of sunlight
a consummate liar possessed with disbelief
alone for these mere moments in the dying firelight

maybe at a loss for the dramatic yet making
manic urges
blood rushing to hungry arms

alone on this night
perhaps leaving these fellow travelers behind and scraping the dew and dirt to
fill up my footprints

before him
every highwayman and cold trickster and solipsistic gypsy feeding off the milk of the road

leaving his blankets and bandaged remnant gear

neither alone nor released
he has shaken off her fragrance
clothing only smells like me and moonlight

the only sounds elemental
the only sky grey then forgiving the early morning
the only shirt soft from repeated washing and wear
the only reason a promise wasted on a lover's burning glance

the only movements these movements
owning nothing but clenched sentences

the only thing real is this place

the only thing that leaves it is
what's left