I ride light
milked, moved
by moon rocks, I ride

through cold, warm
words, air
thick and thin both

how we carry continents
and our older, unsettled eyes
through rooms
burned yellow by sun
laughter and blood

and valleys
where wind rushes
and tears at our eyes, I see
asking us to cling
chest to ground
side by side
with smiles

but everyday grows later
and everyday grows higher
like trees