Under the oriental sun the sightless man is driving again. He knows the way knows these roads by heart. He drives with care never reckless. He says, “Turn down the radio I can’t hear when you whisper.” Instead, I turn it up because I know if I whisper softer it will sound like a train…

That blue never eludes me. Today wisps in the winter sky press in reminding me to keep the pale sun at my back delicately follow the outline of the mountains listen to the scalloped silence of the birds.