so when we find ourselves trapped wrinkled along the edge of the 101 

                    I look for the endings. at that, you elbow me hard and wave at the GPS 

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to punch in your address; the advertisements beep their warnings, the roads

                    stretch dark. I hear countdowns all over. we restart this path halfhearted, 

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we only ever complete a third of the route: you, your leg shaking the frame, hand to your

                    elbow, arm across your stomach, you the frame and mirrors and tires; 

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I, the gas in your engine. I, echoing you in my dreams each night. 

                    our forms sprawled across the hood. I’ll look up and the billboard 

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we’ve hurtled into will rain faded maroon letters over us, and you’ll brush dry paint flakes off

                    my skin and braid the pieces together, and they’ll claim JESUS, I HAVEN’T LIVED 

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WITHOUT YOU! To which you will tell me there isn’t a minute you spend without me

                    in it, and I will nod and smile while the car explodes underneath us 

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and the shrapnel sticks to my teeth and I know this is not our ending 

                    because your last breath comes and your hand is in mine. in everything that 

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continues, bits of me are intertwined within you, so I will not take comfort with you

                    beside me, and we’ll forge on, cruising on forever, this roadless dark. 

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there are so many fires I wouldn’t extinguish even if you gave me the chance. so many

                    places we’ve caught aflame. and after all everyone you’ve ever loved 

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you’ve discovered twice, so in another life I will find you as Alexis or Colin or Ella, in

                    which you pass by me on main street and knock over my coffee and insist on 

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buying me a replacement, in which we find ourselves side by side 

                    in the pews of the only church in town, praying to the same god, drinking 

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the same coffee, in which two meetings by fate is better than 

                    an infinity without, in which your car stays intact, the billboard 

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is just a billboard, in which I’ll learn you again and twice I’ll love you right, in which I

                    wouldn’t want anything so excessive as an itemized list of our endings