Transitional Landscapes

Undulating, unveiling, timbered pines

in the country, on the interstate, east of Dallas

Across transitional landscapes

into the rocky planes, north-central

Heading west, cross-fading

from a bizarre winter wind,

dull and balmy, that December from the south

Charmed discomfort, or surreal confusion,

headlong into dissent, away

toward all that was unknown

The dry-ice desert-scape along the 40

in northern New Mexico,

tracing its gaze across the southwest

as the moon shone

the snow in stunning black light

From eras glazed over mounting exposition,

abstracted from within and dutifully charged,

defined in propulsion, then deadened in tracks

A lier in wait, unknowing, rearranging

weaves of ill-timed, esoteric inscription

read aloud in earnest –

in tender loving cruelty

Dress Rehearsal Rag bellowing omens,

touching raw nerves, eliciting your tears

Rattling window speakers, raw baritone slicing

meditation through air, like Santoku blades

carelessly cutting our silken skin

Dropping weight in symphonic clangs,

spontaneous gasps, staggering away,

projecting ahead – remains on the road

When we met, I’d asked you where you’d been

over swaths of time, both toiling and spent

cratering distance, charting a path, away

from points where we may have intersected

I’d marveled at the grace and ease, your words,

the presence in the shaken space

where your eyes glimmered the darkness

Yet drawn back and muted,

my eyes crusted over crucial intervals

An opaque journey, unclean and unclear,

fed and spawned, bountiful and unrequited

I could only hope

to take you there with me

 MM 3/17