A Living

Even pain you can take, in waves:

call the interval happiness. You can

travel; whatever nags you, you can

change it. You can roll this burden away.

In the pinched bend of your street

you can look back, or ahead, or wait.

And there is easy talk, for throwing

back like Annie-Over, or a minuet,

a way to act human in these years the stars

look past. And somewhere around you begins

that lifted road lighted by sunset, offered

again and again, laced where the sky lives:

Someday your road.