top of page

Vanishing Point

Street-lamp beams converge

Somewhere in the mid-distance

On the interstate.

We oughta meet there

Beside that blue column of

Mercury vapor haze.

I'll stand in the dark

And suggest you step forward

'Til you're silver-trimmed.

You'll take a few steps

Then turn and offer your palm 

In invitation. 

I'll be hesitant

Because you know I don't dance

But I still may reach.

You'll smile so coyly

With your lips so gently pressed

That breaths still flow through.

I'll stand there half-lit

And follow the fog you make

Up toward the bulb.

You'll swallow a tear

You kissed surreptitiously 

From your lower lip. 

I'll shiver and chew

The same pain you just tasted

Then pocket my hand. 

You'll let fall your own

Alongside another tear

Which stains the asphalt.

I'll stand in the dark

And suggest you step forward 

'Til we're as we've been.

Two parallel things

Moving forward but not close

At similar speeds.

No lamp beams converge 

On this length of interstate;

All an illusion. 

bottom of page