If a moment becomes a moment

Enough to keep, I’m liable to stay

There for a while. Right hand in Levi

Pockets, smoke through the nostrils

Exhaling a deep breath held longer

Than most people who frequent here.

And the handrail, wet with moisture

Keeps my left arm cool from the

Waning sun over the Pacific. The

Dust off the highway creates the

Illusion that there is some other place

Above the water, a high land with

Rolling hills and deep rivers. Wheat

Fields softer than any alleyway I’ve

Slept upon. A faraway place. If the

Highway stretches far enough it

Might bend around to reach it. Maybe

That’s why our ancestors charted

The waves, rode them, far and wide

And buried themselves beneath the

Wet sand with gold and sharks. Maybe

The rolling deep is that highway. Even

Jesus is said to have walked upon

that mysterious disguise. And if ever

that highway comes to my sight long

enough, and the moment becomes more

than a moment, I’ll take a Coke bottle

and write a letter to the gods above and

cork it. Throw it out to that blue road,

letting it roll to that faraway place with

golden hills and tall oak trees. To the ones

that sent me. Just to let them know.

I’m still here. I’m still here.

Daniel Letz is a full-time student at Liberty University. He is currently studying as an undergraduate in English. He was born and raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains, residing in Roanoke, Virginia. Other works of his have appeared in Skyway Journal, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and Aberration Labyrinth Magazine.