for Issa
the road we took
that day on the way
to my heart’s house,
long labor still
rooting and rising,
still roofless in the sage
of our mountain Avalon—
in the car
a washboard tremolo
held the tension in the scene
we played—
parts we were
born to play
eyes full of
secret smiles—
a scene in which
thirst and water
finally
met
many miles now
that road is a good
good road
still
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