The Wind and the Road

Left out in the cold. A pale rose on the road. An ice cold sun high above. No end in sight. No road markers, no mile stones. Just endless black stretching out. A serpent laying across the land. Splitting it, cleaving it in two Hard, cold, unforgiving. This serpent, this road. A wind stirs. A wind blows. It whistles then roars. Acrossed an empty landscape. Making objects move as if alive. From where it comes. To where it goes. It is endless. A sudden it is there. Uncalled for unasked, unbeckoned. It shows up. To accompany the dark serpent. To stroke its rigid back. To never be caught. Never be seen Just felt. Crawling across your skin. Down your back. Over your face Scuttling into cracks and crannies. Moving on. Never to be caught or stilled