All of a sudden, sister,
I know what you are holding in—
let go of it. I want to keep
walking next to you.
In the dim evening, scattering
clouds race the semis above us
on the highway; do you remember
walking this road home before, thirsty,
remember stopping at the creek, the moss
like a body, a dead body—
tell me that story again, only
leave out the part where
I wouldn’t stop talking and you left
me alone in the tunnel, the great
stones, each one, a grandfather
turtle, beak open—this violence, a routine
crossing—creek bed lit up, second
floor windows yellowing the water.
I am a shadow on the landscape,
invasive. I want you to take me up
in the glass you dip in, catch me
unaware.