A Road

This road seems to go on forever. It is well lit. My eyes wander al- ong its outstretched arm to the horizon--I think I see that line culminate into a hand, but I'm not sure. The other direction te- lls a similar tale, but again, I am not sure. One way seems to sp- eak of twilight, the other morning but which is which...still, I wa- nder along on questioning soles. On the road there are people--I think they are like me, or...some walk steady, enjoying the breeze, others, transfixed, gaze off the road into the near-breaching dark- ness and quiver or scream, some wander in, never to be seen again or so I picture it in my picturing mind. Others have built castles & mansions on the road's shoulder. Some have armed guards, pour cha- mpagne from their balconies, and laugh. Others beckon your entry, offering candy and candles, boo- ks and favors. The wind breaks it s way into each, like a charitabl e burglar, stealing discontented sighs and warring plots for all to listen that have ears, for de- dicated wanderers to digest and muse upon as thoughts, mumble. Others are running with briefcas- es, this way or that, shouting do wn my trepid gait with boundless conviction...but like a wedding dress, I patiently trail her: the woman, the love, the mother. I kn ow her, and her me, I can trust h- er--this star I know to be true. I am sure of it, and I match her gentle smile with my own.