Ink Tea Stone Leaf

Spanning high above the canyon's
chaparral and stones, a dozen
lanes afloat upon the fog—the
purple rises in the eastern
sky, the orange west is blinding—
I the driver chase the evening's
light to seek the summer's daughter
wading in the shallows, waiting,
dressed in skin and sun, her shadow
stretching long across the sand—but
I the driver, borne aloft by
dreaming, borne by pillars rooted
deep within the misty air, a
road have yet to sail over—
a dusky highway on the coast, 
colossal bridge to summer's hope.