Mile

Where the way has clearly won, understand
whether night made us go
or let us come roughly, gone
a final mile
not to say
just another calling back, but

(Nothing sees us as we drive out where we shouldn’t’ve)

tinder torn, spread again, can’t compare
or tell you who (being here
leaves it in: what over-there
wouldn’t do,
sure and set-up,
almost kneeling in lost design,

always thought-of…) turns up holding and looks behind

and sticks around: disappears. Enough is taken
and kept alive --- just a let:
a place to go to put it off
in rendered time.
What’s a followed
sight to rumble, left unwound

if it says back?: I’ll be broken and passed around.