Drive

I vagrant my way half north to you.
Insected trees foreground the lovelorn mountains.

Lone mountains creased with flesh like wounds.
I keep my destination in mind, winding.

Winding around invokes elasticity.
Feathery windshields brushed once persist.

Flick-of-wrist antithesis of goal posts.
I talk to the fiction of my tall goal.

I think achievement a fictive flick of ghosts.
Host points moisten the road ahead.

Ahead on road shoulder, cracks where flowers live.
Some infant flowers rise to the unmarked sun.

A way to learn the sun is to view flowers.
I vagrant my way half north to you.

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