In transit again.
The wind picks me up
when no one else would.
No longer entrenched,
it has me intrigued
as it rolls through the trees
innocent and irresistible
like the sudden scent of intimacy
in the passing rain
rustling the curtains on the windowpane.
Everywhere there is movement
moments mesh with memory
exposes the flesh left hidden away.
In waysides of this attraction,
lodged in liminality
exiled from the distraction
the non stop neon notions of progress.
This line of thinking
invades the frame of your perfect sketch
grasped with a stretch
soon to be replaced
as it is pulled away
like an unwanted skin
I can no longer take comfort in
its layers transparent and thin
swept away for a clearer vision.
See the tip of the insence stick
amongst the smoke,
slow lava flowing pictures
forming until the clouds broke.
Fallen suns illuminate leaf walls
shot through with veins
like highways in the wilting light.
When highways appear neverending,
I’ll meditate on the next bending
the blurred and broken lines suspending
like a flickering wick lit in the void.
Suddenly, a smoky cloud covers the full moon
inviting everything to pass through
on the raft of its luminous hue,
on that map you read of immortality,
an interlacing of all the destinations
the imagination could accrue.