Oasis

Through the windshield

Vigilant I search for

My peculiar obsession

(A childhood compulsion

Shaped from the backseat

Of our Thunderbird

Endless dull stretches

Of blurred landscape)

An inconsequential

Lonely copse of trees

An oasis of sorts

An aesthetic refuge

Set apart composed

Far off in a field

A modest wilderness

Impossible to plot

Left fallow neglected

Interrupting efficiency

There must be a few

Windblown pine or oak

Riotous grasses glistening

From morning dew

A boulder unbudgeable

To the farmer’s lever

Daffodils if a house

Once stood there

A small reluctant

Spring and tall bullrushes

Nodding in the breeze

A white egret striding

Elegantly nearby

A pale moon nearby

Transparent in the sky

I imagine if I

Stopped the car walked

There with a book

The intent to spend

An unaccountable afternoon

There’d be the sweet

Scent of wild roses

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David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, is a Pushcart nominee. His work appears widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.