Albuquerque, 5:57 AM

It’s at this time
I think of you the most
As I wait impatiently
For my ride
Always a little late

It was at this time
I’d hear
Your razor splash in the sink
Tap the porcelain edge
To wake me for school

It was at this time
I’d hear
Old newspaper crumple
Into the rusted wood stove
The clank of logs
Onto the chilled floor

And your voice
Cut through the thin walls
Asking
“Who wants grits and eggs?”

I never did

I start to call from the curb
To see if you are up
But know you have been
For hours now
Behind the motor of the carriage mill

Logs run over the blade
Send woodchips in every direction
And you
Safe behind the Plexiglas
Dry knuckles on the gears
Face West

Motionless

Headlights pull up
I look once more
As the light
Slices over the Sandias
And I think of you
Safe on the other side
Of a complicated world
I choose to battle everyday

I jump into the warmed seat
And begin to wind my path
Through desert mesas
And locked cell doors

Like water over time
Chisels away stone
Carving my life
Out of a sunrise, morning red