LizaJane with the penchant for unfinished projects
waits ...
until the right vista comes into view.
She rides a railroad without tracks
A girl rumbles on into landscape
and there ain't no
better place than that.
Out there, amongst the red dirt of the land
Voices spring from earth
She listens
When even the land has gone to sleep
She waits
up all night
For her to come.
And if she don't -
Say she's too busy,
Or say - just maybe - she's having too much fun
Then the waiting was worth it
And the sleep then can come.
She travels to a spun world of music
the hum of wheels speak enough
the hardly tuned radio
picks up songs from the past
And everything sings, sometimes.
The weather she travels
cuts lines on her face
and each band of pressure
works its way
deep beneath nails
Singing.
She rides through the world watching
sunsets eyes on fast moving horizons
mists forming, drifting
seeing clouds teach from a classroom sky
then rain themselves out.
In heavy heart beats on the roof of her car.
In delicate sheets that slow down to touch her.