he talks of paths
as though a ring
can be a bridge
as though a slap
can be that left
fork you never take
he talks of bridges
like tasks that
must be completed
one step, two step
a slap for not
playing hop-scotch
along the way
he talks of crossing
always one way
never looking behind
never holding hands
there are no
road buddies
there is empty
air between us
he talks of ending
the light at the end
maybe a tunnel
maybe a hallway
only the light
dims with every pace
I replace my shoes
with bare feet
walk instead onto
the newly shorn
grass just past
that bridge-I
don’t want to
reach the end
his hand can’t
breach that gap
the green under my
toes, tickles
I feel it in my nose
my fingers, the crook
of my arms
he doesn’t wait long
they never do