I drive the back roads every morning,
Ordinary asphalt with potholes
Deep enough to crack axles
& carcasses decomposing slowly
As if they had forever to get it done;
Ordinary, except when they’re not,
When they shimmer like sunlit black rivers
Flowing into that other world
Overlaid by this one—
A book of revelation in which
Nut groves contain more lost wisdom
Than ancient libraries,
& water spilling from a pipe
To irrigate alfalfa
Makes everything absolutely clear.