Occasionally a god speaks to you, rutted tollway a flint knife breaching gutted fields hung on event horizon, clear cut contradiction through soybeans and sheared corn: blue pickup an orange blaze, white letters blistered, boiling down to tarmac, asphalt, sulfur fume cured by a methane gas burn-off pipe, blue flame chipped with white raising a buttress of weather -burnt bricks, flaking wind totem. We stopped to take some cargo on, weighted October with a freight of waiting snow traveling east, panic of starlings startled from stubble husks by a harvest moon dangled directly ahead: drove into the pitted sphere, bloody pearl punched in a sky just out of reach (vanishing point retreating, peeling), one of the yellowed streetlights by now, dimming, diminishing. The road says to perspective, wait.
"Syntax," from Otherhood: Poems by Reginald Shepherd. Copyright © 2003 by Reginald Shepherd. Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press. All rights reserved.