Two old roads in low fog burning
on flint hills this morning
while sun rises
the way heat rises.
Coyote scampers across the road
a few miles before El Dorado, plain as day.
Edges sharpen as the way
leads to where these same hills
are Osage. When I stop, wind sighs.
What remains of the fog has lifted.
I can see how easy it would be
to get turned around
in that soft light when
it gets to blazing and take
a lifetime finding a way out of it.
