Anthem for driving through fog
Miserere on the radio,
no telegraph lines, just songlines
looping pole to pole.
Hedges buffer nothingness,
a tree's born every other second,
shadow-flat. The world's ascended,
groundless as a kingdom of birds,
all hieroglyphs, illusions
like the bridge with no end,
the barbed wire hung from nowhere,
a headless hill.
Gratia deo round the next bend
is a swallowtail skimming for a clear patch.
A frozen sun is in excelsis
like headlights in the highest.
© 2009 Charlotte Segaller
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