102: And then, He saw

The Truth comes out; that
Total blindness absolute
Is seldom experienced, survived, seen
As Total blackness.

Some describe it as a grey mist.

101: Suburbium

auctumnus

On one road, the woodlands host the town and its childbearers,
Welcome - welcome.
Tread lightly on the pathways, tracks entrenched deep within,
It is still, yet it moves, this collective chorus.
Voices paint the air with echoes traced from redwood to redwood.


hiems

Myths From The Other Road:
"Please believe us when we say that days
are harsh, we are weary.
The yellow force freezes; dozer sputters and spits in surrender,
But a deity it is, for in its wake the ice and stiff-caked mud
Are resurrected in the awe of few.
Skeleton lanes; they lay their bones,
Cobblestone-quilted pathways hug the asphalt,
We observe their act, their futile bombardment,
Renaissance boom until they --"


ver

They paint the road gold,
Dionysian blessings taken and spent.
Who knew that earth and cement
would finally be equals?


aestas

The windows breathe in airs of sweetness: toasted honey.
We sat under maroon-glazed skies,
atop landfills of the past, now long erased.
Constant ra-ta-tatting
Rivals nature's feather songs.
The track has been made, so
Look on, woodlands! For next time
they may come to you.