Greyhound

Yellow and red splash the bald trees
of the American road. 

Wheat fields glow golden,
warming in spring sun.

The sky sails across oceans
of infinite depths, naked as freedom.

Clouds melt among Sun's swords
like lovers' legs between sheets.

The city,
I lost to the miles behind

I move on
among fraternities
of gliding machines,
carried by wheels
of bottomless time,
rolling through an expanse
of orphan territory,
belonging to no one,
and everything at once,
ascending into the garden
of futures unclaimed. 

Mother Mountain traces the horizon
with her bosom.
The falcon floats the wind,

stretching its wings,

like saluting flags.

The river shivers sunbeam, 

like diamonds dancing the night, 

resting upwards eternally

to heavens eclipsing her sight. 

The multitude,

I lost to the hours behind.

I move on, 

a traveler,

as singular
as the American road, 

plummeting like rain

into a world alive. 

-LBCH