Leaving

Hard to say why the rock
And asphalt of the recent road
And ancient shield

Almost combine, yet remain
Distinct, as the blasted granite
Seems to nibble, condescending,

At the fluid lines of highway
That carry us at speeds that make
It likely we’d miss everything.

We need the road, and suppose it
Grants us passage through the undulating
Rock, which clearly has no need of us.

Our eyes cannot escape the
Elemental and chaotic cradle of
The shield, partly hidden by the

Grass, and shrub, and trees that
Grow from nothing on a flinty bed.
The shapes and colours refer us to

A time before imagining, placid
And unmoveable, while we slip past,
And at the last, can hardly take our leave.