Like Roethke's 'Journey to the Interior'
One presses on where the pavement ends,
All the Caution signs riddled with bullets
The curving gravel ribboning through oaks
Across narrow bridges where no water runs,
Further into switchback mountains
Winding out in low gears to the inevitable fork
And of course,
all the signs missing.
Dice rolled on Mendocino County Road 431
Miles of harrowing timber access road,
You've no idea where you're heading
Sliding in dust to the axles
Lurching over potholes & sticks,
The rolled Ford pickup rusting in the ditch-
Then suddenly the close trees open
To a scene not made for the eyes of men-
Stark bright golden star
Shining over vast Pacific sea-fog
At land's end.
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