Signs read all along — as roadside signs are
claim to absolute newness and mastery of all mystery
as signs are, the ones that you see go down the road —
with you, as are trumped all universal sorts of energy
that emerges from them — are mystery
(I said, as I thought if I would ever see her again)
and the condition of them being put there
seen all along the highway.
Signs are called, then, these original works of art
designed to snare and hold the human heart — before,
like on a prior occasion when you have seen them
in the city’s heart, you know —
out there they are the same as
seen all along the highway.
“You are so naive” (we who are the country-born),
clumping even all the fallen leaves
coming along the roadside-way.
And lo, the bend is steep.
And, all along the silent time
the earth had grown terrifically
battered in green, the life we lead
as seen all along the highway.
And “When can it be that I will see her again” —
thinking only to myself,
trying to remember all the shades of scenes put there
to filter in through the warm sunlight in her apartment —
by trying a — desire to clamp them into time —
all together —
all the heart things, all the soul —
as seen all along the highway.
