driving to corpus christi

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

cocooning forward.

 

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,

changes come.’

 

i must not forget—not now, not here—

the weight and names these signs

do bare.

 

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.