I've been stepping on most of the cracks
in the tired asphalt
with its mottled gray speckles.
Whole chunks have disappeared,
and I step over the holes.

A worn-out candle
flame of tiny sun
has slipped
into a hidden crevice
behind the mountains.

And the steel-hued clouds
have edges of gold and silver--
soft, quiet knives that cut
into icy blue gulfs
of watery sky.

There is such a wide space
between those clouds
and this aging pavement,

but the gap is only a few thousand feet
and a few thousand miles separate you and me.