Reno
by Bryce McKay Weyerman
Stagnate sunlight breathes a stale morning.
You rest your head in my lap.
I play with your hair like the dust devils of the desert you love so much.
I have nothing to give you, but I leave you a calico spirit and 2100 seeds of faith.
Physical distance runs parallel while I will attempt to intersect our paths as much as possible.
There are no cross roads for you and me; just pauses, until we’re side by side able to pick up the controller.
Why can’t Nevada wait until tomorrow...
