Maybe you find your center On a couch beside a divided highway, Where asphalt ribbons melt together In the beautiful mess of the day's last fire, Where light falls on upholstery In a manufactured Southwest pattern, Best suited to drier air but somehow At home on a Wisconsin shoulder, Watching the world go by in metallic paint Colors and autoglass reflections, Moving too fast to catch all the names Of almost-forgotten rivers crossed: Rib River, Rat River, Jump River, And any number of State Name Rivers. Or maybe you find your center On the other side of a plume of red granite dust, Where the asphalt ends and the rivers Are more than almost-forgotten signs Beside a divided highway.
Inspired by an actual couch beside a divided highway.
I listen to the whine of time That goes in a line, a climb, A silent sign wave; fine Resonant and resilient, Nearly sentient, it reminds Of times of meditation, Of peaceful celebration Like music with no beat, No melody and no lyrics No clerics can well describe.
Whatever remains of before I ignore; ideas like yesterday Which is to say tomorrow, Bring no sorrow here, no joy. They are a ploy to change, To rearrange the apogee Of this lovely inner symphony And bribe me with self-pity In sympathy with some dream Which once made me scream.
I imbibe in the circumstance, A chance to muse on forever; Words like never and regret I forget and only think of serenity. A rarity; an affinity with infinity Entices me to surrender instantly Serendipitously and trustingly, Just me and the universe Chapter and verse, still unwritten, Unbidden, I surrender.