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when the other man asked him did he pray
richard robbins
he kept driving, the storefronts a shoulder-to-shoulder forest he couldn’t
see around.
all those miles down the boulevard, numbers counting down by twos.
and the field opening where the buildings end, and light 1 over the
lengthening eye.
and wind across the tops of bluestem and the lives of insects.
and all animals in the grass, even birds, moving in their own ways under
the sun.
and on the 2, something like his shadow walking, something small
as a daytime star against the blue moving up and down over the far
line of earth.
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