The Thinnest Membrane *

Midnight swallowed time

as I drove through New Mexico.

The vented window hissed 

streaming air

and I imagined

all the sleeping serpents

beneath that cold, full, desert moon.

The radio was nothing but white noise.

Was that my imagination

or was I hearing the muffled thunder

of hundreds 

of pony hooves

just out of sight

wending through caprocks and arroyos? 

Did I just hear the piercing scream

of a cavalry bugle 

and the rattle of breech loaders

sounding like ripping fabric?

Were those ghost riders flashing

in western sheet lightening

a hundred miles distant

among towering thunderheads?

Walden wrote

"Time is the river I go fishing in."

Perhaps the single difference

between the painted war ponies

between the yellow kerchiefed blue jackets and me

is our means of conveyance.

All things being equal

I prefer this empty highway 

and the rumble of my engine.

A thermos of stout

black coffee rests in the floorboard

in front of my passenger seat.

It's time for a roadside pit stop 

some blended bean

and a shake or two of my weary head.

That's when I heard the clear wail

of a wolf

just beyond the headlights 

of my pony car.

Be cautious as you venture

between the panorama of your imagination

and mystic veil of time.

There is the thinnest membrane between yesterday and you.

*From a memorable night trip in April, 1990