and all that's along it
I barely got to see,
Barreling toward you
through pitchdark tunnels,
the country's streaming veinworks--
Drained now as even
the leaning cargo trucks on sloping shoulders
seem to sleep.
Pumping gas alongside
pale weird wakeful strangers
not quite real;
All wild thoughts flying,
Stretching wings through so many
unfettered hours;
And the relief of light
When you're tired enough
To believe it'll never come,
the waking of the world
you were just getting lonely enough
to believe all drained and died.
The gray huge aching monumental tired you almost couldn't beat until--
you did
fell into bed
felt so nearly dead and
more vast-alive than ever.
