I’m afraid
How the dead
Do dream
Beside our own
When we travel

On highways
Cracked
Over deserts
Where they meet us
Halfway to grace

In roadside booths
Trading looks
And coffee cups
Warm
But not teeming

As their contents
Spill every answer
By their wordless
Proof
Staring back

At a presence
Never quite sure
How each morning
Fakes
Even knowing

Which heaven
Alone
Remains closest
Finding diners
Stranded at night

For one last meal
Feeling blessed
Truly touched
This time
Through believing

Better angels
Dwell
Between pillows
Closing eyelids
Chasing that sleep

Seeking hope
Of living again
Losing semblance
Bound
Under bedsheets

Leaving days
Such miracles fail us
Only finding
Signs
Glowing past

Towards faithfulness
Neon redeems
Or inspires
Afar
Through its distance

Down routes
Unexplained
Worth repeating
This full tank fears
Always gone.

• J. Pigno