Poetry

Given that a road
Tapers off into the distance
That the further up it goes
The narrower it becomes
That it comes together
Above the middle of our vision
And disappears;

What happens If the paper of your drawing
Is not the distance
(With everything else in front)
But
A veiled thing
With the distance having left
Reappears.
That where we are now contracts Into a distance
Of where we were.
Far from going forward
We are going back.
The drawing is a mirror
With everything in reverse.
The road is a map of our lives
With all the swellings
Heartbeats
Of high times and low
Of fast and slow
Of head on collisions
(Conflicts of will)
All amassed together

Given that life is beautiful
That the fabric does not tear
But retains a texture both
Gentle to the touch
And
Enervating

What does the drawing look like?