Blind Faith




When love left
so did I.
 
To West
beneath an iron white sky.
 
To West
and her scorched horizon.
 
Past solitary skeleton houses
that appear out of nowhere.
 
Past gas stations like roadside
postage stamps stuck in a corner
somewhere.
 
Through skin and bone towns
that flinch as my tires slaughter
their weary streets sending plumes
of dust rising like disillusionment behind me.
 
Gone.
 
Like an outlaw.
 
Past black crows settling on telephone wire.
 
Past emaciated Bloody River Basin.
 
Honeycombed between the vinyl seat
and the dashboard, radio station
waxes my soul.  Homesickness
is only a state of mind.
 
Galvanized sun grabs stubbornly
to a pinpoint fracture
in the windshield,
dispersing tangerine light across the cab
like blind faith.


 Lisa Zaran



 
 

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