Through the black, and through the white
Weather of that abandoned season
Nearly February, but yet, not quite awake
I drove through the embers of the newborn
Flakes- falling like those erased, naked, syllables
Along the narrowing roads and motionless fields
Where nothing man-made can ever really disturb
That natural order and precision, conceived to elude us
Yet, time and motion, with snow falls, into the simplicity
Of those million, unique, terminally marooned thoughts-
Uttered, said, but once, in any life- now, becomes with distance
Just another "thought" one conjures momentary into sight
Until the windscreen of the mind wipes the window
Of the soul clean, once more- and light returns to the road,
Passing on- like an infinite, charged, translucent stream
In the luminance of head-lights where the people dream
On occasions, not of North Carolina or West Virginia
Where "nothing ever moves" through the thousand tiny towns
"But the traffic"- always passing them by in those wooden Diners
Where they've "always been" - waiting- for that faithful day-
When all things, they say, shall end- Yet, I passed by too-
Until the road was simply there no more......................
