The Closer We GetÂ
The closer we get, the closer our hearts
intertwine, soaring out of our chests, swirling
together like melodies not quite written,
maroon and auburn and gold.
A little boy in a soft, worn hoodie tugs
on his mother’s sleeve: Are we there yet?
But where is there, or anywhere,
on a route born of frozen time?
All that exists is the drive, and I am alive.