You are driving somewhere,
you see the road moving toward you.
You look up, a small sighting shows
you the road moving away from you.
Under you it passes, unnoticed.
You sit still thinking of coffee and love,
the long past, the short, clipped now,
and how the future reaches out to the past,
the two hugging the now like a teddy bear, a lover.
Today it is like a clump, all of it.
Biographical speed is reflexive, an accelerant
in the kingdom of what I feel.
The word designation arises.
I could call it a current, that unnoticed feeling.
But now I am just guessing. I don't know.
Let's call it false truth.
I am designating again.
My elbow is on the open window.
I am at rest while the car moves.
Now I am thinking of a field,
green prairie grasses, still.
Something is moving the grasses.
There is nothing to see but movement.
There is nothing to hear but movement.
I notice wind.
It comes like apparel, like the emperor's new clothes.
Each thing stands up for the next thing.
Sort of like peeling an onion.
Only I will stop now, just short of the center.
It caresses soul, this letting.
It allows me to imagine the center.
Now soul pushes gently against this,
this bright nothing.
Along the side of the road
a hot mouthed grackle pleads.
I am just passing.