Route 35

On the way to Mexico I see the shiny blue willow
across the absurd
dark light of the skies.
 
I see my brothers
sleeping their dreamless
sleep behind a soft metal hoop
that will soon be
held up high.
 
The bass drumming
the Jackson song,
I can hear Johnny Cash
sing his mystic music
down onto the map,
as rain pours down
onto the soaked faces
in Jackson town.
 
The map is in front of me.
I can see it myself
to show my mom
where the loved ones
who have crossed our hearts,
right over the border
are hiding on the route.