Harping along on the interstate, we understood the phrase “This is a call from God.”
We’re taken overland until the roadkill stops us. Bloody pals.
I imagine my car in the center of my religious life. As an inorganic optimist.
Which road had us puzzled as a dwindling resource. This was mine, then suddenly yours.
Attention to clouds, to thin metal poles, specks of birds. Who as future grant us the past.
And there. We’ve arrived at something. Holding hands and praising ourselves as ‘convinced of the fact.’