painted box
even snapping
how the cycle
repeats adapts
to the occasion
to the predictable end
of another not forever
each time i decide
it’s the hour
to pack it in
drive away
for the last time
a turtle is somewhere
up ahead crossing
the road reminding me
what i carry
on my back
when i go
of my fear
that the slow
and the steady
don't always make it
back home to the water
to the shelter of the forest
how the safety of a shell
wrapped around myself
is so very overrated
like the time i stopped
on the busy
two-lane road
stepping out
of my car without a
moment's hesitation
into the oncoming traffic
the engine still running
to help a fellow traveler
albeit one smaller
and braver to
make it across