Moving on

I see the contours in the road
from the bus window
I understand
modern man had a plan
still lathers hands in coal

You cannot hide in winter
reflections shadow
off snow
commune of pine and
redwood shine
thousands of centuries old

And we ween
like fireworks towards the sky
the magnitude of its
whole
weighing down
flattening
us
like the road
gathered in scars and humps
and shoulders

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