The road doesn’t ask
where you’ve been.
It just lifts itself
into the silence
of yes.
Somewhere, salt
marries sunlight.
You forget your middle name.
You forget the name
for forgetting.
A breeze catches
something deep in you—
a tether,
untying.
You are not waiting
for anything.
Not even this.
Laugh lines become
the map home.
And the world,
once so intent on being serious,
smells a bit like citrus
and doesn’t mind
if you hum.
