Cross Road

The second half of my life will be black to the white rind of the old and fading moon

The second half of mylife will be water over the cracked floor of these desert years
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who my friends are
I will dress for the occasion and my hair shall be whatever color I please
Everyone will go on celebrating the old birthday, counting the years as usual, but I will count myself new from this inception, this imprint of my own desire

The second half of my life will be swift, past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder, asphalt tickets, the beckonof open road
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed, fingers shifting through fine sands, arms loose at my sides, wandering feet
There will be new dreams every night and the drapes will never be closed
I will toss my string of keys into a deep well and old letters into the grate

The second half of my life will be ice breaking up on the river, rain soaking the fields
A hand held out, a fire and smoke going upward, always up