Unanswered

Words evaporated
From around the edges
Of moments
In those ridiculously finite journeys,
Late summer Sunday,
Gridline roads
Embarrassed
Only with the occasional
Adventurous curve;

That road
To Hegewisch Records;

That road along the quarry;

Pleasant Lake Road;

All those unanswered chases
In the long-yeared days.

What was waiting?
In the shadow of the Wings?

An older eyeful
Of the last of the dry wood
To surprise a dead fire
Beneath star-hurled spears,

Maybe.

Or later,
Sons lying wide-eyed, crying at sunset,
Having dreamt of the day their father dies

While you remember,
And want
And do not want
All of your wandered earths,

And you wait
For the
Words that will give them comfort
To coalesce
Around the moments.