Mojave

what you think you know you don't
out here on 58
there's a pass to make it
will I take it?
I think I made a mistake
I got away
and it's calling me back to where
I'm supposed to be
on 58
could I return now?

after all this time
we're not the same
oh, but I still feel it
do you believe it?
yet as I wandered, and as I waited
heaven faded
so you're calling me back to a place
so far away
from 58
would I return now?

I don't know...

I can't tell what is real
when I'm on 58
but is that what I needed
to finally see it?
there is no desert. it's just a dream,
it's just a vision
that is calling me to go back to the place I know
on 58
but I can't leave now
I can't leave now.

© Georgia Boyd Wade - 2009

From Following Sounds

I sometimes notice something new--
his expressions sometimes change.
We flirt as if we haven't met before,
we forget we can be seen.
I imagine us dancing sometimes,
rocking out to air guitar
and sideways glances when we speak
to hide a slight envy.
His wisdom can still impress deeply
and I stop to reflect on it.
I try to use foresight with him.
Sometimes I succeed.
Sometimes I dream we'll have a garden,
also succulents in the kitchen.
I'll bring the potted herbs back inside
when the winter chill arrives.
Sometimes he holds me
and makes me heavy and heated--
too stifled to sleep.
I never dream of him,
but fantasize sometimes.
And he will tell me when he's hungry
or when he wants to make love.
Sometimes I curb his appetite,
sometimes I fulfill his needs.
I used to tell him I would move to Santa Fe
and he would look perplexed.
Now I tell him when I'm angry
and try so hard to compromise.
Sometimes I need to try harder.
We both miss New York.
We both know this might be it.
We're okay with that.

-G.B.W.