Prehistory

Prehistory

Not counting the times
I made the road my brother,
I loved so little those years
warmly,

content to trade
my love
for talk
and smiles,

And the last time
spent in darkness
was enough to crash
all dreams:

the babbling trucks
kept calling me
to die
in North Dakota.

What saved me then
was His own voice
calling out my name
in forms.