Backroads

There’ll be no bicycle parked outside my heart
At your disposal

Your hands are unclean
Your feet too unwilling
Not enough strength in your lungs

To ride with my whimsy

I backtrack along backroads that lead to sunflower fields
And I’ve seen your eyes fall short of reverence

I offer too often, too much — my invitation time and again to set a spell

For the sunlight’s forever waning
It’s a light we need to follow
Can’t I wish to hold each photon with you?

Last Ditch

Have you felt invisible
Made from supernatural
Then unmade by someone’s lack?
So have some of us

We become as sunflowers, though
We watch for a flicker
We turn in accordance
We thrive in The Light

Mother Road

What is the name of that road? The spirit and purpose of it? The one we approach, day in and day out, without hesitation?

Familiar with the smell of it, the distractions, attractions and tourist traps along the way, but unsure, in the dark, where to turn when it’s time, finally time, for a rest stop.

Trust, we must, the touch. The feel of our wheels we were gifted, from The Road of all roads, The Mother.