Thoughts & Threads

A poem from the road

The canyon held its breath at dusk,

and I thought of you-

the way light leaves

without warning,

leaving only the color

of what was.

I watched the Rio Grande

catch the dying sun

and learned the shape of longing:

the space a person leaves

after they are gone.

The ponderosa smelled like vanilla,

and I breathed it in carefully,

as if beauty might disappear

if held too tightly.

So I keep driving-

through dust,

through pine shadow,

through the blue silence

between horizons.

You are twelve hundred miles

and one life away.

Love does not always

bring us closer.

Sometimes it teaches us

how far we are willing to walk

with someone inside our heart.

So I carry you.

Not because the distance will disappear,

but because it hasn’t.

Because you haven’t.

And somehow,

the distance doesn’t make me love you less.

It only gives the loving

more room to echo.