Kim Nelson: Routes

Flashes of landscape surround us, like driving into a painting
A palette of yellow corn, green hills, black cows, white clouds
The ghost of rain mingles with the tang of summer grass
My fingers curl into your sides as the colors flicker by
Ahead of us, the road carves into the earth, zig-zagging scars
Under a curved azure dome
Our voices cannot fill this massive open space
Our words are stolen by the wind and scattered like leaves
We are small dots on a map with no borders
I reach out my hand, a small brown flag flying against blue
And let my outstretched fingers slice sapphire ribbons
An engine thrusts us into the abyss
And we rush faster and faster, racing the zephyr
I cannot breathe as the wind collides with us; it breathes for me
As the hill rises, the end of the road disappears
We can go anywhere