Across the Median

So much for direction— 
the highway’s hunger, 
every bend every curve. 
One course, two directions. 
Feet can bisect 
lines crossed and recrossed that 
see in pairs 
that will never face one another. 
Parallel stripes. 
So much rests on reflective 
yellow or white paint, 
eyes fixed on 
a traveler with a destination. 
Something a road can’t own: 
 
a dream of movement 
in perpetual still 
a dream of movement, 
 
something a road can’t own. 
A traveler with a destination— 
eyes fixed on 
yellow or white paint. 
So much rests on reflective 
parallel stripes 
that will never face one another. 
See signs in pairs, 
lines crossed and recrossed that 
feet can bisect. 
One course, two directions, 
every bend, every curve. 
The highways hunger 
so much for direction.