Inkling
an online journal of poetry and prose

04/13/09

Lines, Roads

A landscape stretched over an open field –

the body drives but the mind

follows lines in fields, pulsates with the rows

of corn that border the southbound highway.

I'm stuck in the synchrony,

the simple rhythm,

stuck in the stars that speckle night sky,

swaying over terra-self and when

I roll my window down

midnight traffic and moon glow

make symphonies. It swirls:

the sounds, the stalks, the stars.

The road becomes cool rush

while the concatenation of beats

in corn, in lights,

all static out in the periphery.

Lines converge –

they hum and cut and lead.

Lines keep my navigations fixed

toward vanished destinations.