Rising Hill Road

Photo by Lori Douthat

There’s a road that curves
          exactly the same
                       as the line you see 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 I
                       dream its greens when I’m awake

The wild willows weep
          as I make my way,
                       tracing the edges of time

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

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

So, I hold my breath
           and hope to catch a glimpse
                        of the far-off waning moon