i looked into a truck stop mirror and saw
the sharp angles of my cheeks and jaw
the hard bone of my skull
the four-day growth of graying beard
the goatee running ragged as yardweed
dark hazel eyes behind smudged and speckled lenses
my mouth too red from the desert winds
all the rest of me
i guess
was necessary to bring this face thirty-eight years
and three thousand miles to a mirror in barstow
to marvel at the time and mileage i've managed
to collect
