Posted on: December 27, 2009
Millions of people drive during the holidays. To and from. Rarely just to. I drove through ice and torrents of rain south, then through a cloudy day north and into white mist and fog. The drive, something about the drive, and the time, and the strangeness of endlessly moving forward in relative terms, led to the poem below, and a work in progress:
The vanishing point teases us
Tempts us with the power
So I tried
I really tried to outrun it
What exists beyond the V?
How does it stay just beyond our reach
As we hurtle forward like a car?
Can we go beyond the center of the sky?…