Forty Miles of Bad Road
I see you in the clouds
and feel you in the wind that tousles my hair.
Each passing post
springs anew in the beckoning horizon.
Miles before me,
road noise soothes my churning mind
and the white lines fidelity
holds my wheels true.
On,
to distant mountains of faint promise
that wait in a veil of mist
I'd once seen in the blue of your eyes.
Miles with me.
Neither judging nor condemning,
my wheels kick the dust from yesterday
and eagerly caress the virgin tarmac.
Tomorrow fills my windscreen,
as yesterday
diminishes in the rear view mirror.
I ride the black snake’s back,
sidewinding to new horizons.
Miles before me.
Copyright © David Wallace | Year Posted 2012
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