it's hard to get myself going, then it's hard to get mister going, 
and standing at the intersection with that little white push button to make the light change to walk and the speeding stop. a magic button. i don't bother 
and the cars don't stop, they won't, ever, and we will wait forever 
to cross the highway to the doomed sanctuary 
lugging our hearts behind in little wagons.  
feeling trafficked, traffic feeling, it can't be stopped, 
i can't stop my brain either.  
but i get stopped up. my head gets stopped up. my eyes get dry. dehydrated tears. 
when we get to the island the birders are on the other side of the lagoon 
at the end of the meadow, looking back with binoculars, i almost wave but they're looking in the trees.