Commuting the same racked road,
a slice of burnt white toast,
expedient—not scenic—
speedway through silence,
except for white-noise—
tires on blacktop.

Visually incomplete
throwaway miles,
belt lands of blur—
distorted sight and sound—
injected by speedometer needle,
steady, steady, steady line

until unseen crash
slows the stream,
so I see—
between— broken— lines—

so I see, now I see—
russet greys— unfurling
foliaged rainbows—

from blind reckoning
that an hour glass
holds quenching drink—

full-sight beckoning
to hold a glass,
and know what thirst is.


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