Prehistory

Three times he tried to run us down with his pickup truck on I-94.

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.