Christopher Buckley
- From my window
on the expanse
the road goes out
a silver blue, a vein
dying flame-like for Santa Fe.
It makes a wide smooth sweep
loving the hills, the sand
handwritten with sun.
Past the trees and mesa
which do not count for much
in the eye's long run,
it almost stands up in air
and breaks cleanly
toward the peaks
of the Sangre de Cristo
powdered with that distant
and imagined light.
The road points finally
high and to the left,
some other corner of the earth,
but slides back easily
in the sharp angle of my thought,
saying always its little bit
about roads, how the shape
and direction of things assist
the heart, and are vital signs
by which we reach for what
is just beyond our view.
From Blossoms and Bones by Christopher Buckley, Vanderbilt University Press.
© 1988 Christopher Buckley
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