64 between here & the where the waves break

is a hateful road
no matter why you take it,

one never-ending corridor
of pine and swamp

and rectilinear rear-
view. myself,

i tend to let fly left-
laned, the vanishing

point some place i
shouldn’t be, praying

east or west this
won’t be the time

my brakes give
out before i reach

home.

where the wild horses run

as the sky re-
writes its own
geography, dancing
the horizon in
and out of focus,
we
follow the road
to its end, lead
it shyly on
into wet glowing
thunder
underneath
the footfall
of uncorralled
dreams.

though the darkness
that falls
is implacable,
its night twisted
up in borrowed
sheets and a bed
as big as a desert,

there is
dew
on the floor
with the softly
waking dawn,
and angel
trumpets that
whistle forlornly
a prime
for coming
home.

She

 

wears
eternity tattooed
on her wrists
to hide the fractalled
mysteries of vein
and luminous
fragility, tracts
of yesterdays
that slide
beneath
tomorrow’s surfaces
like subway tunnels.

She knows
secrets:

when to
dance, where
to run,
how to
fly but
she
won’t tell,
ever;
keeps her smile
wrapped up tight
in shadow and
in truth

she
looks best illumined
by rooftop neons,
mirrorless and
deepening;
her eyes
change color
in the sun
about to
set,
the heart
about
to jump.