Highway 5 down California. Boring as grass, God knows
—so we like to say. God knows grass, anyway.
God knows the joy of lifting
delicate petals to passing cumulus.
God knows the freedom of being created
by mountains to shrive the soil.
God knows the carve of wheel on crumbling body,
and the glory of speed, its silent sinew-thrum.
In the act of minute attention, God
dismembers Godself, and God grows.
Driving Meditation, by Tara K. SheperskyA little ramble about Driving Meditation, and road trips, and the inconvenience of poetry
This post includes an original, never-before-published poem. I release about one of these per month, plus a recording, and sometimes a short, rambling reflection. If you enjoyed this post (and would like more poems!) please consider writing me a letter.
Of course I can identify with this, having driven I-5 in California, and north, countless times over the past 44 years. Thank you. I love your poem.💕 And you😘
Tara K. Shepersky 
Of course I can identify with this, having driven I-5 in California, and north, countless times over the past 44 years. Thank you. I love your poem.💕 And you😘
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