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
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.