we left home

to find ourselves.
Out in the desert,
arid vistas expand
beyond the ridges dug
into road that mark the way
forward and onward,
deeper and deeper
into this strange silver
unknown.
We shed our skins
with each passing mile.
Unmarked graves
take the shape of abandoned
vehicles down this
sepulchral road.
It takes faith
to lose yourself,
or so we're told,
but we prefer
the guts we daily
channel to face what's left
after the skin is gone,
the empty skulls
and hollow bones.
There is the strange
sort of love you only find
through the imperfect
flagrant fellowship
of mutual evolution.
We ride on at dawn,
leaving behind everything
that renders us complicit
with the familiar.