We speed through clear night, rolling countryside,
the road dimmer than bone on the black land,
at times coming to the top of a hill
like the prow of a ship thrust out
toward hydrogen star clouds, burning distance.
The lid is off the world: we drive faster
toward a line of hills like animals sleeping
on their sides. The headlights brighten
a face of trees
waiting it out, a horse
standing dead still against a fence,
not trying to see.
This is a dark planet
with no natural light,
ruminative
and shamed
in its own shadow.
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