Pavement Ends

to my father on the anniversary of his death

At last the pavement ends.

Now if I lose your scent

I can follow your footprints.

You’re still breathing in the fog,

your lungs ghostly and delicate

like white lilacs.

I don’t care how many or what kind

have walked here, or run.

I only care about you,

your tracks fresh and firm,

as though you’re nearly within reach.

Don’t let me slow you down.

I will find you.