Remember the first one? The watery
green, deer gliding through rushes.
We were young as that valley
and now, miles later, I can tell
you these things aren’t common—
I am being whittled here
by something more than mountains.
I think lines on maps have nothing
to do with this. The boundaries
we crossed have no names, although
some try Oregon, Idaho.
Where we’ve been is a tattoo
we can never find; the places
we go, the pulse
beating closest to the ear.
Candace Black teaches creative writing at Minnesota State University, Mankato. She has published three collections of poetry: The Volunteer (New Rivers Press, 2003), the chapbook Casa Marina (RopeWalkPress, 2010), and Whereabouts (Snake Nation Press, 2017).