Okay, okay . . . Let's move to Oregon

We need to make our own footprints.
And I see why you say I should show common sense.

I'm not just looking for us in a golden sunset,
and I know we are not always where I expect.
But it is not necessarily at dawn,
nor the summit of the sun
that I feel the cool of your shadow,
like a muted snare drum,
sounding dry beats of perfect timing
against the bent of my breath.
Sometimes it is on the move, south to west.

We will leave our footprints mingled on trails,
a mixture of energy and spice and beaver tails.