A great white highway
stretches
and fills
a horizon
of heat
and hollow earths.
And slowly, it rises,
the long far-off hill-slope
up
and out
dazzling.
A road to walk along,
to drive
at a leisurely pace
it invites
to escape
and elate.
A moon smiles
gap-toothed
on argent
asphalt
and the
stars are
fished for
by the eyes
of a
weary pilgrim.
A winding and vast
web, veil, lace,
Mandala,
laid carefully down by
holy men
one grain at a time, and it,
upon completion
is swept
away, a
reminder of
our only
permanence.
A wind sweeps dust over the
highway and its
pavement
cracks
and bursts
and keeps the time
of hapless
footfalls
all the while.
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