Wednesday, May 8, 2013

1000 Cranes

driving to and fro in silence these days, the familiar country landscape with its repetition moving by me in a peripheral blur.  the mounds, the radio tower, the hand-painted sign for honey, the terriers greeting the day.  i turned toward them to catch a glimpse at 60 miles per hour.  1000 cranes point the way, and the death card, while Latin guitar emanates from the room next door.

i float.  pluto enveloping me, saturn beneath, and uranus is the sky.