Communion

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
thoroughfare—
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—
space—
between— broken— lines—

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

recovering—
from blind reckoning
that an hour glass
holds quenching drink—

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

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