The damn twisted road.

The damn twisted road.

(April is poetry month. New poetry number eight.)

I tried to find a memory; I tried to find a place.

I have forgotten how your face looked, and I want to see you again.

Once we hid in the darkness, once we sought a safe place.

We were cloth less, free of life shit.

Now I stand in downtown Ann Arbor and I have become a stranger.

In a kind dream, we found each other and we were in Port Austin.

Drinking coffee and knowing silence.

I could not see your face, and you told me.

The damn twisted road.

Murdered our mind and soul.

Coyote