On the Goad

an open road view into music
scores, cross hatches the eyes
light transmutes sound
beams wave particular goodbye

left, autumn straits, dire yellow
scoured forest hands, orange pocks 
marked the solid line highway shoulder
strong choices by quiet voices

riveted to the hull of the deciduous ship
steaming south and east and west
away from the cold fact: frozen bones forge continuity
to spite hot combusted escapes