"Forever," he said.
-Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The black tarp huge and hanging from the overpass.
The truck in between and staring,
a light from within,
a bunk bed perhaps.
The church bell paused and poised.
The teens fleeced and awe-faced,
jogging into the night.
The couple, helmet handed,
shouting yellow-faced on the pull off
straight into the others' mouth.
They know there is something worth loving.
Pieces of something put together,
worth pulling over for,
or find somehow to roll around in them
while rolling on.
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