A cornfield breathes them out,
two girls lithe and green
as blades of grass,
their hair bright with sun.
I’m sorry I drove by, wary
of time, my purse.
Now when I drive alone
I wonder about them, their empty arms:
where are you going?
If I could do it again
we’d all coast together
past sunflower farms,
fenceless fields,
face the day’s gloaming
like barnstormers.
I might tell them about how poems
are letters of regret.
How even though the road stretches on
in front of us
like an uncertain, outstretched hand,
how light I’d feel
if we all walked together,
carrying nothing.
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