Wild, Free (a poem inspired by highway 58)

(a poem inspired by highway 58)

In the dusk

the world is lit

in an inconceivable hue.

it is magic

enveloping us in it

we drive into it and

surrender

to the winds of the roads.

tobacco and corn fields

silhouettes of forest lines

and a sky

so monstrously wide

electric with colors

a spectrum impossible for my hungry eyes.

i am like a child.

a promise, a pulsing

pumping in the scene

streaming past my window

frames of cinematic look-alikes

but I am real, he is real,

and this is real

but only for the coyly passing hour

of twilight.

there is nothing but speeding air between it and me

this world and my world

rushing, cool spring air.

i tilt my head back and draw deeply

of the smell of wet earth

sweet and dark

full of green

damp

setting sun

and cropland.

fields as old as generations

knowing wars & men’s blood,

yielding bread of life

as it is told

by the hand and mouth of God.

I smell Him.

I wash my hair in the wet of the wind

letting it tangle and whip

and my skin, dampen and bathe

until supple in duskened, living air.

I will smell like it.

not clean

but part of this wild earth

this wild world

clearly some enchanted corner

of God’s imagination.