the measure of worth

i am wondering at the road, running my hand along its
gravel banks like a child in a canoe. i possess
the road like a demon waiting to be exorcised,
fateless and carnal; upon freedom rained redemption.
i have a miracle and a story worth repeating.

somone is calling my name across the road
with a voice like a child and a man and a hurricane-
whisper. i strain an ear and the melody
fades into a single clear note, high above the treetops
and i slip, steaming into woven silence.

gods of place and ardor rage in my bones, in my chest. my joints
split with the surging of tides and volcanoes. my spine
is crushed like straw and blown away. i am laid low
under your eyes. broken and shallow, i rise to my knees,
your bleeding, grasping, anguished supplicant.