Metanoia

Location

Writhing snakes of fog and of glass

glide gingerly across streets

clinging to the tires of

mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons

as they drive

across mountains, through valleys,

into the clouds

and back down.

They pass the ditches

where bodies lay

lost and captive to the words,

"I quit"

And they can say,

"I made it farther"

 

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