They're there along the longest roads,
where lines dividing either lane
converge on distant points of light
which never speak of left or right.

And they are in the railroad tracks
conducting luggage here to there
then disappearing far away
with the death or birth of day,

until you move, adjust the view
(perspectives trending where you stand)
and the old world starts to skew
as angles wrangle with the land,

and elsewhere, from some higher ground,
perhaps a lost thing can be found,
or what was hidden gets revealed:
the precipice becomes a field.