One word for the road, two or three but ultimately
In time and through use clusters darker weights and gifts
The bitter sweet remuneration, wings of mischief
In the innocent, prodigious pride in the stately
Damned who for the moment occupy stations of the lately
Crowned and periodically remain as arbitrators in the drift
Of noxious clouds and sand dunes respeaking storms and monoliths
And what preöccupies the waking hours, yeast of conversations sedately
Phrased but to what are, after all, mere stones; that light-is my-lead
And not the shadow-that-I-cast is my inspiration.
Higher then, comes what is cast off by the mirror
That is my soul, and nothing of the shadows or
Commotion caused but purely the journey,
the majesty of earthly seed
From dust to dust, my final aspiration.