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Driving in New Mexico
the terrain’s more expansive here
you said, as if obscurities that had been,
moved aside so the eye
could soak in highways singing
restless blues, as if language
materialized straight from that feeling
of nowhere coupled with too many
places to be, and you can see
what you want to, blanketing the spaces
with clutter from your mind
by accident like deja vu
I keep turning mid-drive
to stare at the unusual wedding
of indifference and curiosity,
your green eyes touching even
further than the collective
of what remains enchantingly
unspoken
Copyright ©
Erin Beckett
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