These too-familiar roads,
litter strewn and worn thin
with expectation,
are transformed by blank faced
clusters of early mist
to heretic territories,
biblical in their mystery,
empty as a psalm.
As the thin white voice
of the radio whispers
today`s schedule of weather,
you pass like a wind of change
in a roar of dust and gleaming
bodywork, not looking back.
I give chase; Foot down,
pride hurt, invulnerable
with all the useless strength
that anger brings.
Green flashes of meadow
stream past as one by one
last night`s shadows fade.
As I slow to a new revelation
of road, I see you in the distance,
indicating you are turning
somewhere new.
Not knowing I am still here.
Still frantically, hopelessly,
pursuing you.
