Tuesday, January 15, 2013
behind the wheel
At first glance it's not poetic,
what unfolds on this winter drive
through morning streets of Jonesboro,
partly withered urban, partly tired woods.
Yet it's having a way of making me wonder.
Each new curve through a spirit
spreading its gentle delirium.
Voila! -- here an old Dutch memory
sleeping under Jan van Goyen's varnish;
there a quality of far dead grandparents
keeping quiet vigil on their descendant;
and a moment ago blackbirds lifting
a shroud from melancholy eeriness;
finally a riddle of hushed branches.
You just never know when to expect
the muted ecstatic coming to the road.