Through west Texas you told me I needed to take a step back
when all we had was yellow brick after yellow brick after yellow brick,
I stayed between the lines.
And that always bigger picture of things loomed
above us, gazing in through the windshield,
squeezing our cheeks like a grandmother, so proud.
For us, all that was were stars and stars and stars.
Hours crawled by a mile a minute and change.
You got quiet for fifty some odd ticks to the odometer
and I peeked over and saw your eyes open.
I flicked my brights to wink at you and maybe you missed it.
I took a step back.
What’s left when every thing’s ahead?
