At one time,
our two dreams fit snugly together
like grooves on a railroad track,
pointing in one singular direction.
Our journey was to a destination that we both envisioned,
one of surprising magic.
We traveled to a little hamlet across state lines,
where teapots were shaped like Aladdin’s lamp
and filled with healing brews,
and wishes were granted
in real time.
We drank medicine of the spirit
from the space between
A fox crossed our path,
a star shot out of the sky.
One night I sang a duet of inner music with you
and the harmony of our voices
sweetened sulfurous hot springs water
and black Montana night,
and the milky patina of stars dancing overhead.
It is cliched to say
that I will love for you forever.
But I will.
Yet our trains ran off the track
and almost crashed.
Now we run on separate lines.
Maybe someday we will be reborn trolleys
in San Francisco.
Until then, I still look for you
in every old beat up blue Toyota Camry station wagon
that passes me by
on the road,
as I make my way
into the unknown
on my own.