~
This level crossing--
stick,
sand,
and broken glass,
from naming to numbering,
names tend to define,
numbers are neutral,
they count the roads, follow their failings--
flow,
force,
and absorb,
dictated by a headlight,
I feel nearer to the surface of us,
motion made of visible memories, arrested in space,
mere unorganized explosions of random energy,
and therefore meaningless--
to fall in love with our progress,
and yet be outgrown by it.
~