the crossing space

by Dana Tuohey

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your car suspended in thin air
our words suspended like clouds like
cotton in my mouth - 
the old town, the fire, the river, 
the ocean, the rocks, the boats,
that song we all loved the first 5 times and
the ice cream that drips and pools in
rivers between fingers racing to catch with our tongues
suspended in thin air and i want 
to be with you everywhere, everywhere i want 
to be with you.

the rumbling tire over the yellow line
the crossing space
i want to be everywhere, and i don’t
want to leave with you.
it’s like taking a bite out of a plum
shooting pain through enamel like
the shooting pain of your ankle flipped
onto stone, carrying you home carrying
you home.
pouring out of the side of a mountain
a bundle of blue and grey overflowing
so sweet and caught in the clouds.
windows down, with me, chilly, 
i can’t think of a better place to be.
sometimes i wonder why but never
with you - instead just when and
when again?
when again to here, to the crossing space.

to the empty highway with enough room 
to turn around in.
enough room and enough space.
a place to find common ground -
the real ground and earth people only dream of.

is it good luck to find love in a place like this?
or can love not stay away from those
who wake up every day, messy
smiles on their faces
ready to climb and
climb again.

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