driving towards my daughter
and the mother of my child
across a state that is not my home,
on a two-lane highway that
serves both the fast and slow.
a doted line divides us all
my heart, my dear, my heart
is full, so full of that which
must not be left behind.
to form this feeling and raise it well,
until it speaks and learns to grow,
though eyes burnt shut by soot and sun:
‘oh man of contingency, changes come,
i must not forget—not now, not here—
the weight and names these signs
man by man this road was paved,
with lone star on his breath; each
man drove home to lover, wife or child,
a paycheck closer to corpus christi,
passing the kings ranch herd of cattle,
and on the meadow—just ahead—a
one-week-old white mare.