I don't really know
how I've spent six months
in this city without
looking up

Maybe its that i'm growing
less afraid
of falling in a manhole, and
maybe its that
we feel at home
in places where we
know
the same things
from several angles, but

lately, my sight keeps
getting caught
along the tops of buildings
Where windows wait,
folded into brick
Brushing blue air

these picket-fence
horizons that
catch the snow
in layers, and
fling our gaze
toward sky

Hello Ohio
I smile toward your
rain-soaked asphalt
27 years of knowing you
the way I know my own breathing

the road that curved by the church
where I steered my first car
into the parking lot. Scanning for friends
dizzy with the excitement of
belonging

The road that lay between our backyard
and the stable. The hill I would run up
and down by starlight, smelling like
horse sweat and dust

the highway between the cornfields
(of which I have composed enough poems by now.)
and which carried a thousand quiet dreams and
decisions made alone, elbow against the windowpane.

have you heard my voice saying
I miss you?