Yardley, Pennsylvania, an expensive dump
and the van seats shake their broken bones.
Duty-free liquor and cigarettes,
the refineries and the harbor’s cranes.
The moon digs its way out of the dirt.
The branches of an evergreen sway.
the woman you don’t love.
She kisses you hard and often
holding your face in her big hands.
Will answers be found
planted among rows of song?
Will mouths recognize
in their voices, all mouths in unison,
the ah in harmony, the way words
of hope are more
than truth when whispered?
Will we turn to each other and ask,
has it been…how long since?
A world now, a world then
is seeking a foothold, trying
to remember when we looked
at one another
and found—A world again—Surely
what we long for is at the wheel
Surely, we’ll soon hear
its unearthly groan.