a winter of potential energy

from a trip north while looking out the car window on the highway.

a winter of potential energy

waterfall of icicles
stranded against the chiseled rock.
along the highway bookends
even gravity can’t get you home.

tire tread, yelling with oldie road songs,
feet hanging out windows, hair in the wind,
elongated landscapes drenched in sun,
across hills and prairies from ocean to ocean.
these are the legends (myths?)
built in our heads from birth to death,
our mystical journey west.

the moving itch, ripping up roots
transplanting to a perceived oasis
seems in white america’s genetics,
anything to hit the road, away from home,
free from responsibility, accountability
some seek a defining experience,
a place to mirror sensibilities,
an individualistic tapestry of wondrous imagined communities.

rhythmically spirited
in an open flow
beyond types,

a voice as soft as a pillow on an ear
calling out magnetically to the far corners,
frozen arms stretch to touch the granule texture below.
bulking up, leveraging and questioning
the tested tradition and girth of iced midsection
til the tipping point, the vibrations
from a paradigm-shifting earthquake.
a clean break from what defined
all that came before.
and as we, I, the icicle heads toward pavement,
what will the shattered scattered pieces mean
when they melt and coalesce
in a rebirth of form,
absorb in soil until collected,
cradled under the bedrock,
biding time as thousand-year erosion
turns to explosion!

Published in: on December 30, 2007 at 7:59 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Beautiful.

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