The time I left

I took my time,

tires spun slow.

Other cars traveled in the direction to go.

I had desires to follow;

the side view captured more than the lights.

Cut it close on a winding lane

(once or twice);

went down 7 miles away from an address I'd recognize.

I felt the switch of pavement.

Breaking stones vibrated at my forefoot.

I had taken a sip;

tasted his drink he left in the holder.

I spilled it.

The coldness soaked into me.

It broke my moment's thought.

It was hours of stretch until

nothing remained but to go home.

They say,

the longest way round

is the shortest way

home.

~Jessi (image and poem)