beyond walls

With ruddy arms and “sharp elbows”
locked in a steering wheel death grip,
we tear down the holy highway,
weaving lanes, in and out,
and dreams, in and out.

The road’s meridian is like the
ridged backs of dragons, or the wall
between ancient history and mythology
trapped in a modern asphalt façade.

Back in a land of the hot breeze
and palm trees silvered by white sand,
it’s like I’ve entered a gelatin print
or am seeing light cast by an eclipse.

There the mount where Elijah
blacklisted false prophets,
there the church of Mary’s natal miracle,
there the glimmering mystery
of the Mediterranean,
viewed from the other side
of militarized Lebanon.

And I’m torn from my reverie
by the question:
“Is this your spiritual journey?”
and I wait like the grotto
for the sea to carve its caverns,
or the gossamer veil of dust motes
to draw ‘round Jesus’ tomb
before I answer that this landscape
is more than a backdrop
to pressing human concerns

In this ideological desert drought
we weave lanes and dreams, in and out,
and for once experience the world
in its felt immediacy.