When did sleeping sooner so to reach the dawn become
this endless musty wakefulness? When did rocketships
become airplanes, when did airplanes
stop being blue and red stars in a child's sky?
When did the grass grow hot beneath my feet
and seep between my lips and burn there?
How the hell do I get home?
The road is no shorter for my asking it
where it will end.
Misty, heat-haze vision
of walking towards the sun.