Majesty in a Rear View Mirror

The car weeps at the majesty That sprouts up through the soil, And with a lonesome revving, buzzing cry It drips two tears of oil. But the majesty sways indifferently Within this swirling stream; That drives the car so stubbornly, Drives this very dream. Heralds the sky with a loon's trumpet call, Raises the clouds in their stead; Anoints the trees with holy rain And rests them on a humus bed. As I pass I witness these things, Their power fastens me still. I long to stay in this majesty But the stream, it carries me still. The dream is left far behind me now As the car maintains its solemn key; Momentum imprisons me behind the bars Of steel spokes spinning violently. The distance opens its grisly maw, Devouring without shame. Digested to only memory, The majesty and its name. A heavy haze of gloom flavors the air When I glance into the mirror facing rear. But I leap with faintest solace as I read: “Objects may be closer than they appear.”