Just Before Marathon
Driving south first, down, away
from Austin, then west
across the desert flats.
Low sharp mountains ring the horizon,
their shapes like the back teeth
of wolves.
Farther still, ahead,
purple thunderclouds press
against heaven and earth,
then lightening--the communion
between those two kingdoms
of iron, and air.
Beyond, curtains of grey
with electric trim, the gift
of the late summer monsoon.
Suddenly this—confetti,
a soundless blizzard of
spring-yellow butterflies
straining south, uncountable
and dying hard against
grills mirrors windows.
Our new lanes bisect their ancient ones.
Still, they are everywhere, so many.
And me, just one, no wings,
also pushing and pushing my heart against
the rising wind.
