i know that if i were to go back, it wouldn't feel
like what i'm looking for. somehow measurable sun.
i want to continue the ascent; slipping
folded envelopes between our conversations—sealed.
i think we would just run together
like young best friends. i don't know
about tradition, but i know about speed
and transit, like cars on highways and solo
flight. maybe everyone becomes interested in motion at 24.
all we have is distance, poetry, and one-
at-a-time; therefore the hours
can never be enough.
