Roads Returned Peace

Rolling over hills fired by autumnal blaze
or slipping down mountains in Texas
the true hold of my gaze
inward pointing towards this summer nexus.

Home is no longer where my body rests

My place is in writ of blackened wingtips
Ferrous bones bring a mettle to mine
be it in glowing blue field or papyrus
She is my bravery, my roadway, my sign.

She lives in my back straight and spine curved
fireflies in mason jar released wishes
Gentle is a swords nature from pen to word
this... seventh sense that came love surreptitious

Now arrived from everywhere, I am home.


Chris Whitenack © 2014