Those things up ahead and hazy
in the heat fug of the horizon
are dark, tall and straight as a line
of trees, fence posts and radio masts;
distance makes it hard to tell which,
just as flatness in the land disguises
distance; it could be minutes or miles
to willowing structures which hide
behind moisture and expanses like
a chain-gang of white lies. Some say
light manifests itself by what it lights
and, if that is true, then light must
be forever shifting, subject to mistrust.
For eyes discern nothing save what
they see and yet reach, always, to know
things seen. Light lends objects being
even over flat, immeasurable distance
it affects an understanding; silouhettes —
things up ahead and hazy — walkers
on some pilgrimage to where we're drawn.
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