Road and Synapse

The gravel on this road long unused
crackles with unfamiliar noise
under my well-worn tires.
My elbow thrusts into hot air,
bared to sun and desert.

Synapses not used in years
fire in solidarity with the road,
transporting me to memory long-buried.
The emotion of it rises and throws
its own gravel against my well-worn heart.




(top:; bottom:

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Aging, memory, Poem, Slice of Life, Time and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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