He jogged to his Datsun wagon,
dirty, wild, alone

in a wide flat lot beneath
pinhole sparks and sable sky

under a bath of white fluorescent
the humming ball hanging 
over the green hood.

The assured aluminum pole,
the certain buzz of immediate light
showcased his wagon fixed
in gravel scattered space.

He turned his head above:
only suggestions of
warriors, dogs, ladles,
dragons, gods, bears– 
persuasive specks marking
rainy lilac seasons.

He pondered choice infinitives

To turn key and drive the gray ribbon
home to tangible, familiar points.

or to connect distant points
as if he were still a boy
jumping stone to stone,
mapping uncrossable streams.

Advertisements