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The road plays pitch & catch with the bus
pitching us into blank whiteness
catching up to us by surprise.
I look forward to black asphalt
I look forward to see you.
"Will we be on time?" I ask.
He says "Today there are no schedules.
To reach our destination
will be enough."
Where is my patience
as we run this piebald gauntlet
fence like black teeth yawning on one side
mysterious ditches on the other
the air a shapeless, restless light
of snow blinding us with white?
Where is his courage
as he weaves from side to side
searching for surfaces
smiles from heaven?
Those behind us drop away
or give up and go home.
Two or three rush past,
grinning into the ghostly future,
trusting their wheels
& the utter truthfulness of bared teeth.
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