Untitled

I drove in the dark
cut the headlights
and slept in the car
and I don't know where I am exactly
in these hills
in this desert.

I wake up
across the front seat of
this old late 70's car
that I love with
the push-button radio
landboat for sure

one door wide open
and here I am
with the sun coming up and
turning the hills gold and
the clouds gray, then blue, then rose
then pink
and then all gone. There is not one damn thing
out here

except for these
shallow graves
I scratched out with
my own hands

a neat row of them
patiently there
and I can't remember
for the life of me
who I put in there

does it matter
that I don't
or can't
or won't
know anymore

this day is here and
the only thing left to do is
to walk on out
follow the downgrade
to find the river
or walk the straight line
to intersect a road, and rescue
or top that far hill
to see the way out

none of those
one step back
and we're back to back
all I want is
to walk
with you
however we go and
I won't talk too much
or be bothersome
or ask you

just our steps in time
the peripheral and constant
sight of you
along with me.