A Place Beyond Roads

The only sound is wind sweeping old leaves and the dog eating her evening meal. Vodka swirls with a sense of loneliness that must be welcomed home, like an elder who finally holds the dream of life in its fullness.

Earlier, thin trails left by deer and meandering oxbows in that place beyond roads. The care we feel, a current.

The 3 a.m night-ocean swallows December moonlight. Are you taking your place among the old ones?

Towardness.

Everything working together, hand-in-hand. That's what the holy books say. And so says swirling tracks in the sand. What is deep in the center, beloved?

Empty mailboxes, empty days. Just clean the ash from the fireplace. Fold the laundry. Gaze at album covers and realize the idols you have made. Even friendships. Even children and spouses.

Love wins of course. But if there is a game being played then there is a loser. I think what we really want is to become invisible.