highway 
i’ve driven down this road before
the familiar roll of the land
out into the western night
is my cradle
the uncoiled layer of asphalt
warm and silent and never ending
hauling in beneath me
and falling away behind
is my lifeline
the dreams that come and go
the memories that rise
then vanish once again
carry for me the promise
of salvation
town 
four blocks down, four blocks back
took a walk to the drugstore
passed by the broke-down house
of a man named itchy stover
crossed over where the judge used to live
and looked beyond the riverbank
to the scattered jacales on the outskirts
one in particular, farthest one out
her fire still burns from long ago
en la casa de la paz
in the town of jolon
man 
he fell in step alongside me
and was already in conversation
part-way through a story of a boy
who he said i looked like
he spoke only in Spanish
and never looked at me directly
his jacket didn’t fit right
and he limped badly
once again,
like all the other times
i told him i knew the boy
and i knew what he was
“en español por favor”
“espiritu”