Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Wintry Mix

The first day of winter, we drove
Fog animal, Kabbala, Coyote
Played in succession on the phone
Piped through a black cord in the car

A shapely world, ancient, but blurred
The cliffs of vaguely religious
Names now, Court of the Patriarchs
White Throne, Altar, draped in snow fogs

Rain on the canyon floors, freezing
Into scattered comments against
The windshield as we drive higher
Past the ravens on the road corpse

Through the almost empty tunnels
In the stone dead heart of silence
Picked with a few windows on white
And inevitable questions

Who were we, father and daughter
Five years on, still patrolling roads
That could only loop back on us
Every mixed exploration closed

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