Phantoms

Phantoms, that’s all we ever were,

Vapour trails melding in the rush hour.

The same shades of green flicker past

And morse code blinks winter sun.

All the years are lost on this road.

I only see shapes, an outline.

Light from some far off spectrum

Which burns right through.

The fallow deer graze at the roadside,

Always threatening to step out. 

Our fingers blanch upon the wheel 

But they can’t see or hear us

Because we aren’t really here

And they only know the skeleton

Maps of the forest, the vibrations

Of the hyphal scaffold of its floor.

Who first to leave this tunnel?

Without any corporal trace 

There would be no hitting truth.

But I’ll take your force and keep it.

I’d ride this road still, upon a charge

Of phantom fire and smile upon 

This rocket fuel we never spilled

In some vain, somatic realm.