The water lies
opaque,
and still on the highway,
glistens, then evaporates as
you draw near.

O’er the left,
windswept, dry
to a brittle chalk white,
that barren floor of
alkali.
Just to the right,
subdued, honey-hued,
a flame that doesn't glow
as bright.

Clamped by the vice
of dread,
as the road before us spread,
farther than our own eyes
would bear to see.
Wisps of feelings had,
trapped hot against the
rocks,
on the hills
rolling by, beside and beneath.

Misplaced words,
quipped obliviously,
snuffs, buries
the flame.

This soul sits
opaque
and still,
riding across the highway,
as dry as the ghost of that sea.

When you draw near......
You end me.