silverwheel
Bluelighter
Desert Route
I lie against a hill bordering the highway,
and gaze across the fields of cactus and rock.
The brown hues blend into darkening sky, slurring
like a watered painting. I brush the dirt from my leg,
and the slippery passage of time is realized
when I check the scar on my arm,
and know that over a week has passed
since the nurse dug out my blood
and left me weakened.
I can still feel the needle hanging
in the underside of my arm,
but its physical memory slips away
before I even realize
that I am recovering.
Headlights pass, trailing streaks of red
by the hazards flashing at the side
of the road, yet before I stand,
I narrow my eyes to rest
from the July heat;
and when I wake, I do not find
any signals for orientation, waiting
for any signals of light, and finding nothing.
Maybe days passed in the evening sleep,
and I lie fused to this rough hill,
as meaningless as a stray rock
cluttering the scenery.
I lie against a hill bordering the highway,
and gaze across the fields of cactus and rock.
The brown hues blend into darkening sky, slurring
like a watered painting. I brush the dirt from my leg,
and the slippery passage of time is realized
when I check the scar on my arm,
and know that over a week has passed
since the nurse dug out my blood
and left me weakened.
I can still feel the needle hanging
in the underside of my arm,
but its physical memory slips away
before I even realize
that I am recovering.
Headlights pass, trailing streaks of red
by the hazards flashing at the side
of the road, yet before I stand,
I narrow my eyes to rest
from the July heat;
and when I wake, I do not find
any signals for orientation, waiting
for any signals of light, and finding nothing.
Maybe days passed in the evening sleep,
and I lie fused to this rough hill,
as meaningless as a stray rock
cluttering the scenery.
