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Roads like these only lead to one place. It strikes me,
Passing the service exit, that the broad, concrete stretch
Can feel so much like an ending day, eternally. Ask me
Where we are and I will not know, but I’ll say
That we’re around ten minutes from the airport
And hope that my words hang still in the air.
I won’t look anymore, won’t listen to the music
Or the wind outside, or let it blow it all, I won’t breathe
And time will stop and ten minutes might last a lifetime –
But the road remains. And so I think about the Geese
Crossing overhead, I’ve never seen them before now,
Ringed black necks like commas, flight feathers
Spread in a sort of victory, headed elsewhere.
I turn to watch them go and the radio returns,
Satellites passing – bodies like open windows.
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