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There is more freedom
in a road trip
than in any sort of vacation.

I did not need a plane ticket.
I did not need a plan.
I got in the car with my girl and off we went.

I drove until the sky looked like that:

and stopped, so she could look like this:

and think of all the things that water makes you think
as it laps and laughs
against dock moorings
and tin boat bottoms.

 

My fingers find such joy
in sun-soaked, still-warm, water.
They wash marshmallow goo off their tips
and frisk in the playful lake tide
that can never really decide which way to go,
and titters like a toddler
in a toy store,
bobbing on the rocks.

They ignite me, those fingers –
still wet and dancing –
despite their work,
despite their wear,
despite their age,

and their fire caused by water
flares up my arms and to the heart
and remembers me to youth
and the space no worry can fill.

 

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