We find the easy way.
Up, down, around, sloshing through the thick –
we untangle, climb and conquer.

Still, pain is mind’s mortality,
crinkling hope like paper –
each fiber breaking cleanly in the fold.

Sing pain again;
of women, drugs and alcohol,
of faint stale dawns.

Your eyes paint me –
a figurine on a step,
breathing fog.

My lips steam.
I watch my breath –
quietly swallowed by night.

I stare into the light,
farther along this path,
and wonder if we’ll ever meet.