by Gideon Burton
I could no further distance contemplate
than shimmers just beyond the wick of road
alight these hundred miles in the great
and virgin desert valley. As the load
of evening presses musically and firm
against our resignations, silver rain
will polish what the asphalt cannot learn
beyond the dusting noons, however plain.
I think I can hold out until the pass
between the brooding mountains thick with dusk,
at least until reflections, copper, brass,
or gold absorb the shadows and their must.
Must I await the hours, begging day
to spangle midnights long before they fray?
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - luckyfly
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