Rising Hill Road

Photo by Lori Douthat

There’s a road that curves   exactly the same                        as the line here on my palm

It travels along

my arm, like the veins                        you can’t see inside my heart

I walk its paths

when I’m asleep,

and dream its greens when I’m awake

The willows weep           as I make my way,                        tracing the edge of the path.

The twilight sky           dances toward dark;                        where footsteps make no sound

This road is smooth and I am young; the end of it is home

So, I hold my breath            and take a step

toward the waning moon