By Jane Hyphen
Phantoms, that’s all we ever were,
Vapour trails melding in the rush hour.
The same shades of green flicker past
And morse code blinks winter sun.
All the years are lost on this road.
I only see shapes, an outline.
Light from some far off spectrum
Which burns right through.
The fallow deer graze at the roadside,
Always threatening to step out.
Our fingers blanch upon the wheel
But they can’t see or hear us
Because we aren’t really here
And they only know the skeleton
Maps of the forest, the vibrations
Of the hyphal scaffold of its floor.
Who first to leave this tunnel?
Without any corporal trace
There would be no hitting truth.
But I’ll take your force and keep it.
I’d ride this road still, upon a charge
Of phantom fire and smile upon
This rocket fuel we never spilled
In some vain, somatic realm.