Photo by Saintbridge/Lic. Creative Commons
I.
Driving after sundown,
opening and closing windows
of an invisible world,
as if stones were slow
under the chipped and lacquered stars.
My dog’s gaze browsing places
where the sun blazed red,
a shadow moving over tall grass.
II.
The air, for a moment, green fire.
And then his laugh, pleased and satisfied
which may have been myself,
filled by the sound.
III.
Parkway praying in the Sioux garden, as if
a stranger stops to chat in the stairway.
And if the staccato voice of the radio
could hear its own frailty
in the creak of a hinge,
moonlight in the vaulted room above me.
I wondered
how a human could produce that song
and not die.
***
Driving The Parkway is a Cento of lines from the book Kissing the Ground by poet Daniel Lusk
