On the Road Away

The sky drifts on toward blue and purple dusk
in grey and gold of wool and field earth curves
to meet the low, deep burning of the sun
burns low and deep soaked into eyes, feet.

A tiny silver thing, I weave the roads
with my own weight in silk, a complicated
silence made of feathers, sea, and wind
a space alive with north and south, the magnets

swinging out of self-identity
the clouds despise and love the shadowed hills PoemPhoto2long

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