Roads

I like to be on highways
so when I am reaching in the
darkness I am doing it straight ahead,
like the last memories of a day that track you in your bed,

One road looks forward,
and another looks back,
wasting our time for the things
we think we need and lack,

when the fever of
daylight stands strong enough
for evening,
go outside,
the zephyr is awaiting your touch,
to give up all the searching
for nameless gifts and such,

you said when someone is beside you,
the tall grass of life
cannot obscure or hide you,
a boat set out for derelict sailing
comes before so fine a guest,
having set out on a fool's errand raiding
your own
treasure chest,

before a dark and benighted sky,
the suffering runs deeper,
and you ask the question why?
the artist collects transcendency
in her pocket,
and arranges it in the
shape of spring,
to go off searching for some
low form of love wishing the
acolyte would bring.