By Andrew R. Duckworth
Time expands and contracts in a dream
Of pink and purple mountain roads,
Through a blue fog
From Santa Fe to Fort Worth,
Through mythic time and space.
Chile ristras turn to tumble weeds
Rolling across highways.
Terrain morphs over time,
Molded by eternal hands over time.
The land holds stories,
Some lost forever, some still told,
Some requiring no voice,
Some carried by the wind,
Some told around a fire,
Stories of mythic place and time.
Hours go by in seconds,
And my head lifts from a pillow.
Dreams from the backseat
As we hit Fort Worth streets.