1.
we traveled this summer road, one night
it rolled beneath this line
strobing between the black and white
mile after perfect mile
there were grassy slopes
we were passing tokes
all the way to dawn
from the ghost of your smile, I’m still running
the haunt of your Slovenian laugh
your quiet style and cunning
scent of your personal, private stash
we were vagrant kids
smoking fragrant lids
with a hippie mystical bond
2.
tonight, the road is meandering
and I’m wandering
wondering where you are, somewhere
a pillow holds your sleeping face
in its quiet hand
your hand, it touched my restlessness, once
it touches me, still, this night
I wish I could disturb you where you rest
to awaken our lost mischief
and those feelings where they sleep, at peace
3.
I’m strapped to this metal explorer
cutting the wet and dark
it slices into emptiness
and listens to my heart
it carries my body and thoughts of you
I fumble for smokes and words
to appreciate the cruelty
of our lonely misplaced worlds
the memory of your touch that night
through fog guides my approach
I retrace the road I miss the most
and never travel in light
my golden heart sang a song to you, once
it sings to you, still, this night
4.
I pass an abandoned roadhouse cafe
where once we stopped for shade
your long hair bounced and curled
your round face turned and teased
you whispered into my ear
the words I cannot find
on any road since then, and time
It’s vacant now, closed to passers bye
as I rush past, all back tire and speed
the memory of your face that day is blurred
beneath a bridal veil of dark and rain
the mist outside seeps into my memory
5.
tonight, I am here, traveling
while you are, wherever, in dream
a place as removed from me as the next curve
I hasten toward it, the unknown
past closed cafes and weathered signs
of undiscovered places and spent lives
your youthful embrace, it touched my heart, once
I remember that touch. Your touch meant that much
Randy Hurst
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