LATE & LONG:

The day started early, yet the time for diaries slipped by 
like a super tanker shrouded in fog. The sky was on fire, 
dirty grey smudges of clouds drifting low, ripped open on 
the barbs of pylons releasing showers of sunlight, stroking 
fields with golden fingers. 
The purple heads of luminous grasses nodded their green 
approval as rush hour’s children hissed, racing fearless, 
down tributaries to the great Blacktop rivers heading out
to sea.
A pity then, there was no time to sit in silence listening
to winds whispering their names or standing quietly concealed
behind a hedge as rubber rolled focused & relentless between 
the lines at the edge of the world. I turned the key instead 
& let the engine moan & wine, the poetry of curves that guides 
the wheel the hands that take me through tunnels of May blossom 
& succulent greens. 
No radio this morning, but with the window down & the speed low,
I was dancing to rhythms at the Edge of Summer. 

(K)