We Are Riders

We are riders
on a crowded bus, in the back of time,
full of babies and strangers bearing the faces of people
who we should have loved, and should have loved us in return.

Over years a nameless driver
pushed the brakes to discharge, to pour out,
to unload until, like this morning
we find ourselves riding again, alone together as once we did.

This time, we ride with memories bursting
with questions answered, with prophecies fulfilled.
Knowing leaves a journey simple,
and makes the going difficult to bear.

For now we know what we never could have, but might have guessed at anyway.
That love alone renders our passage sufferable when in pain,
or light as heated air, when there is joy;
silent and still as well, when the plains are flat, and dry, and long.

Home now. The refrigerator hums, we no longer hear it.
Like voices in our heads, droning.
Crowds of words, proffered in anger and in solace
play in our minds as music, while we yet ride.