In 1984, in the dark, on the backroad

up from Emerson Trail, if you need to know

exactly, we saw fire in the sky. my brother and i

U2 hammering a yowl about A Sort of Homecoming

i saw the coming time, when i would finally go

around that big bend in the highway and fly

out into the big, throbbing world.

he saw, in gas flares flicking by

a River of Fire in the future. it comes to this

he said, face and voice underlit

they will not stop until earthquakes.

his voice breaking. like his back. like his heart.

like his will. like his skull, not two years on.

i did not say that he was wrong. and lacked

the words to say, but the world still waits

in beauty, full of other roads, more visions

and i want it. so i held silence and the vinyl

armrest, breathing in time with guitar

inside, howling with all my might.

was it then that i knew? i’d never

get to bring him with me. my road

has been so beautiful, but so few

ever saw his beauty. and this cost

keeps getting paid, by young man

after young man after girl who

die unreached. the unforgettable fire

double edged, it devours, or burns within.