Consider the cognizant grave

near the road.

The lump of dirt, polite

The Easter cross, so white.

 

The sun beats down.

The dew falls

through a thousand blades of grass

root, stem, bulb, and pluck.

 

In the distance, a car is born.

Growing along the road

It sucks air and tar as it rolls

burly tires wrap, whap, and whine.

Watch iron and rust grovel and growl

Feel the pant and weave.

While the hardened steel pistons

flail and howl.

 

Bear the burden and it is gone.

The sun beats down.

What do you see?

 

Lift the throttle and glide.

All the howling frozen winds

are calling our names

and we are still loved.

hovering above the swirling dither.

 

Look down now.

Look down.

What do you see?

 

Plunge cracking through the brittle hardwood limbs and golden leaves.

Watch the silver spears running through the bark and veins.

Harry tiny beetles over the shag.

Plant my feet in the loam

Crush my heels over the mulch.

I feel the chill in the air.

It’s coming

Over the hill

Look down.

What do you see now?

 

I’m going to crawl.

Back under the brick thick asphalt.

I’m a highway mole and the grist rips my back.

The sand is smooth, damp, and cool under my belly.

I feel the weight of the road

My shoulders roll as I climb a hill.

I am intimate with the torsion of its winding through Ohio.

I hurt with the crumbling curve edges

and I lust for the spine of cleavage growing out of your freeways.

Look down. Look down.

What do you see?

 

We are clean, undiluted.

We don’t bleed sweat or die

We are joined, coast to coast

reflective,

revenant.

What do you see?

 

Rise up.

Rise up.

Claw through the air any way you can.

Rise on the wind, dizzy and higher,

to where the air is raw and burns out your lungs.

Now rest, glide.

Look down. What do you see?