Unnumbered pebbles were married
that unmercifully hot day by bituminous tar.
Locked still, each stone passes below a footfall
as a stream would flow under a bridge.
Now and again this familiar acoustic event
presents a definitive distant throb on my ears.
Its common fuselage came close, markings unclear
gray color mimes the sky. Hospital destination?
My mind’s eye draws on the far ridge
delineates commuters voyage on Wisconsin 78,
writhing south along a forgotten Indian path,
dark mobile silhouettes lent to the ending day.
Palmer R. Haynes
© December, 2015