kicked down the road

I have felt
more warmth from a stone, 
than from you.
Thrown back to the river,
kicked down the road, 
you know what they say about glass
homes and stones.

Even you,
you long to be picked up, looked
at all sides, all angles, held 
by the sun light and to have 
your history wondered about 
the way a question mark puts 
someone on the hook to answer

I have been more answered
by my own voice, off this mountaintop, than by you, at the end of these ten years,
at the river’s end,
it’s the end of the road, where we turn to gravel and the dust kicks up if you let it. 

So let it, get filthy with me 
my friend,
we are all ugly,
even you,
when we come out of the water,
and out of hiding.