The candlelight creases aged wrinkles
as the thunderstorm passes
and a gray dawn smears forth.

This is becoming--
A glistening tulip
bobbing in the crisp rush
of cars along the highway.

This is becoming--
A frenetic scrabble
against oiled blacktop
in search of crumbs.

And then
That Which Is
will slash its veins
and pour meaning
into your soul.

After all,
you've opened your eyes.
You dream the joy of wind
whistling along the road.