Full-Stop
Aug 23 2008


It takes 5 days
driving west —
roof-down, wind-in-your-hair
across the plains;
grinding gears up mountain passes;
then free-wheeling down
flying past the big rigs, lights flashing
and escape lanes for when they fail,
brakes smoking
diesels jaking hard.

You think you can smell the ocean
and it pulls you west,
following the sun, watching it set
at the far end of the world.
Mile zero,
at the cliff edge
of land —
leaning-out on the rail like a ship’s prow
still straining westward;
the whole continent
trailing in back of you.

In this frontier nation
that has not yet come of age,
the cross-country drive is like a rite of passage.
And the Pacific has always attracted you,
sure you would find some answers there.
Now here you are,
peering over the edge
at blue sky
blue water,
wishing you could keep moving on.

How the sense of motion
felt like progress,
and has now abandoned you here,
full-stop.
Long enough
to catch-up with yourself,
and whatever you thought
you had left behind.