Roads of dirt, and of pavement,
fences of split rail, and of barbed wire,
lengths of time, linked together in chains;
we move along them,
now racing, now clinging-
each of us under the same sun,
each of us with the same heart;
we stand in our own clearings,
build our own altars,
and send up our own prayers
that drift into the sky;
we sit under the same tree,
ears crushed by the same thunder,
held by the same embrace of the morning,
laying flowers on the same grave,
and folding the same hands-
some smooth as alabaster, some rough as rawhide.
the web converges,
sometimes I meet you,
sometimes the rhythm aligns,
the tide goes out, taking our footprints,
the shadows collapse, light breaks over the horizon.
you rest your head on my shoulder,
and I rest mine on yours.