miles and broken highways
map the roads to where you stand,
gazing down at the spinning world
in the shade of our translocations.

our mantra; our holy prayer
is now and forever more:
"not now, but soon."
as we fill the spaces in between
with promises and mirth,
clinging together by this fine fiber
that will stand strong for this year
and the next,
until summer again dawns upon us.

we slowly but surely will
connect the dots one by one by one—
when we'll meet in the middle,
of this vast nation,
those vivid, cerulean clouds rolling over our heads
and glossy pallid blades crushed beneath our soles,
as a million multihued petals blossom under our hearts,
the weeds and the slush of winter,
and it's icy and matted grip
long washed and pulled away by the tide
that will never grace our shores.

a/n—For all of those times when we wished together.
music—'Transatlanticism' by Death Cab for a Cutie