Red-eyed trees

For the toss-and-turns of a
warm night
she did not sleep
the red-eyed tree.

Not delivered

the bleach-white cooling sheets

from dusk to midnight

from midnight to...

What is this?

An itch of a dawn

at her feet

yearning

peeking

yellowish green

Is this eternity then?

With her eyes wide open.

Is this undulation

a matter of fashion?

Or is she forever condemned

without resolution?

She thought about Antarctica

about icebergs

eternal nights

the object of fantasy

then repaid

with eternal sobriety

As she looks on

she contemplates

the river of puzzled gaze

Is this sympathy then?

Of the red-eyed riders

Engulfed by presumed destiny. 

- 2/20/2023, recapitulating thoughts driving into Asheville, NC