The oldest road (I ever know)
We were driving alongside that road.
Half-awake and half more asleep.
Never knowing which way we would go…
or what kind of place it would take.
We were driving alongside this ancient road.
Among so many traffic-light homes,
to ever really call it our own
(or even somebody elses).
Hypnagogic vistas and eyelids and homes.
Now—so much alike—and so alone (in our own eyes).
Just like the smallest stepping stone.
It all seems so much the same.
Right when you’re not really there.
Or when it’s not really here. All at once.
But… through each of these homes…
as their own secret temple, and chapel,
weaved out of hearts.
Lighting up, now, with so many candles and lights.
Bursting forth with everyone, people and life!
Bursting forth, almost like flames—
of their own secret time.
And their whispers of places.
We were driving alongside that oldest of roads,
looking for our own secret home.
Never knowing… that the road,
and the car… was our home.
Onto this ancient old earth.
Only here, in our hearts.