Orbiting Lost

The universe is circling Orion.
I try to force it back, reset the stars;
my fingers fade like sunsets,
and everything I touch slips right through.

I go east, away from you,
then west, to get to you,
but if I walk away, I find you,
and if I walk toward you, I end up far away.
East and west trade places and I am caught
off guard every time.

So here I live, splitting moons,
separating hemispheres and sidestepping tides,
dreaming of an empty sky,
hoping someday to escape this gravity and
find a world with a road --
any road --
that doesn't start or end with you;
any road
that I don't have to walk alone.

Schoolbus Tuesdays

"Let's both quit our jobs," he said, "right now,
and go to the Islands.
We'll work on my friend's boat and have nothing
but good times."

"What about After?" I said.

"What if there is no After?" he said.
"Maybe we'll never come back.
I could get a job."

"There's always After," I said.

And later I wondered if he disliked my practicality,
and if I did,
and I wished I could want it bad enough to go.
But the problem is, I really believe
in After.

I wonder.
Is life what you return to after the side roads
that take you away from it,
or is life the side roads themselves,
the things that catch your heart enough
to pull it away from the duty that doesn't,
that holds you back,
in one place?