Stopover in Jasper
During the bus trip, we sit next to each other,
growing further apart with each mile.
At the stopover in Jasper, we order food,
hoping it will bring more than an easement of hunger.
I consider the reanimation of once-living dust,
wondering if thoughts can be annulled.
Like worn ridges on a tire, we’re left with separate lives
and a nakedness that defines gender.
Driving past wind-forged cliffs at the speed of god,
we resist the folding of souls
and a quietness in which nothing is learned—
though both of us are listening; trying so desperately to hear.