city lights graced interstates,
the way you move your hands through your hair when you feel alone.
remember the flowers you picked when we crossed over madison?
you were so sure you found yourself that you branded it into an oak-
the one you swore reached through the sky and swallowed the city line.
you had yet to hit twenty-three (an age that would swallow you).

then, every breath made you confess you did not know what to do with your hands.
this is a new side of you- so full of fear.