Roads flaring over baked hills,

clouds reaching with translucent leaves,

cemetery rivers choked and churning,

blue blades painted on

bright red doors.

Songs drowned in the depths

of machinery,

rooms in which we sang

now rented to unmoving strangers,

eyes staring in a dark

we never knew.

Mountains climbed by my

childhood body

now far from me

as the bottoms of teeming oceans

winds cut by rock

whose curvature maps the sun.