Route 35

     On the way to Mexico
I see the shiny blue willow
across the absurd
dark light of the skies.

I see in the backseat my brothers
sleeping their dreamless
sleep behind a soft metal hoop
that will soon be
held up high.

The bass drumming
the Jackson song,
I hear Johnny Cash
sing his mystical music
down onto the map,
as rain pours down
on the soaked faces
in Jackson town.

The map is in front of me.
I can show my mom
where the loved ones
who have crossed our hearts
right over the border
are hiding on the route.