a first and final destination

where are we going?

far.

somewhere the trees can't touch.

downstream,

maybe.

we'll see.

i don't want

the flowers to wilt

where we walk.

the natural progression of the daylight

keeps us in line

and sometimes,

we march in place.

are we close?

probably not.

it takes years to follow the scraps that are left of your heart

and decades to piece them together.

why do it?

it makes us better.

weary eyes,

we are droopy.

can we go back?

this soil does not nourish me.

i am not in full bloom.

dirt-caked fingers,

holes worn in jeans.

gloves off.

hands up.

gritty knees.

i am done.

i am not.

we are not there.

we are not far.

i would rather rot

before i settle.

bloom where you're planted.

i'm sorry.

i will root when i am home.