Zarephath

A marathon on the interstate today;
us versus the gold medalist lane dividers.
Through the northern forests and mountains
where the clusters of ice cling to the rock
that shadows over speeding eyes, to rivers
reflecting the sun, shining under swans
and their songs of vernal winters.

Appalachian hikers and territories of deer
come together and spew out the skylines
that we drive along. Symphonies narrate
the landscapes building around us. Cities
gasp their deaths and the country finally
can take a breath. And those plains of foot-
marked snows and visionary constructions!

Bridges engineer our route as the cleansed
sky is patrolled by the birds of surrealist
dreams, themselves incarnates of Icarus,
breaking their wings in Limbo. We rise the
elevations and wish for intimacy with the
genuine population of the north, bearded
and with a pack on their backs.

Cross into modern Amsterdam, as biblical
heads watch from their hanging perches. The
setting sun blinds us, and we turn back
to the homeland that we dread, the fingers
at the ends of the branches waving us goodbye.
Parkways shoot shuttles to our doorsteps, and
to conclude the adventure, we smile.