Circuit vitae weave as a wheel
in wood, rubber, or marrow.
Manifest or metaphor decide
what is and not corporeal.
Concrete and asphalt soar
4-stories under a cotton blue sky,
wings point skyward in fatal repose.
Hwy. 283 rakes the sediments
of ancient and recent memory.
Drive past ruins on the Paluxy,
John Deere meanders the Leon River
in and out of post oak shade
calves frolic on wild sorghum.
Firebricks, foundations, fence posts,
Billy the Kid, and bluebonnets
push dust to hope and vitality.
Summer wanes on the Thantos
Of dad and his yellow rose of Texas;
while off the horizon, fall approaches
as the twilight of seasonal sleep.
Some travel beyond local dreams,
never again on this circuit to awake.
Only so many letters on a new page,
the blue bull again jumps the west gate
to court a brindle heifer in her time.
When I ride-off the circuit vitae
spread my ashes at sunset
on the winds of the hill country.