Grip and Hilt



Some old language waits 

to be demolished

behind a shield wall;

The goddess of gleam,

arms flashing, rotates

the steering wheel and

flies against the blizzard beat,

tattooed by the reflection

of a protection-moon.

She pushes speed along 

the strict way, power-lined, 

guarded, shoulder-to-shoulder

beneath the hawk’s eye.

She chases mirages 

dark as oil, a drink on the horizon

keeps her going

Cobalt glints as she cuts

with this road, against the grain,

heading back to the city.


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