The road is failing, wearing away. Warm enough now
After the cold water filled the empty spaces, lurking near the clay
Slowly saturating the dead roots paved over, too hot to dream
What the grasses looked like.
But I am warm enough to dream them high and golden
Fur of the sun king rising from his land, his body hot, dusty
With all the tributary seeds, tangling himself and the clay
In an afternoon sprawl, reborn.