On Crossing

I want to cross the street

Feel the gravel press into the bottoms 

of my feet. Watch as cars pass by 

in indifference. A faded 

out outline of a lane promising 

order with flecks 

of yellow paint. Crossing 

home is easy. Crossing out 

past the stop sign

past the barbed wooden fence

past pastures and orchards and

the dried up riverbed 

turned county line. Now that...

that takes conviction. One day 

we'll be too old to 

know knowledge of what mysteries

lay hidden inside 

that tiny shack. The pinnacle 

of childhood exploration

Always beckoning

never examined. Like a dream that 

lies dead in the road

Halfway home, halfway across,

just waiting to begin.