Plant 3

By Frank Kearns

The baking two lane blacktop stretches
to a point on the horizon

progress toward the distant mountains
is imperceptible at speed

In a trick of lazy geometry
on-coming trucks don’t seem to rush

they just grow slowly larger
then pass in a blast of turbulence

No curves from here to a far off rise
miles of scrub and ocotillo

hawks…….and empty silence
of a single cabin by a wash

and the crosses and dried flowers
that mark the miles and time

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