Distance Moves Slowly



For too long, I have posed
like a gray fox amid the cactus,
head low, ears high,
sun heavy on my shoulders.

A desiccated plain, roads lined with carcasses
and crosses. Distance
moves slowly,
moving mere inches in centuries.

I accept that this was once the center.
Views changes, truths get re-written,
fog surrounds in a snow-melt shroud.

I steal hours,
afraid of what I might find
beneath the giants
of our birth.

There was once a time
when I would have sacrificed
everything for a reason.

Unlatching secrets,
exquisite echoes
and noble myths,
pours the familiar over me
soft as vanilla
sweet as cherry and currant.

it is not you.

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