Rojo la Red

What lies in wait, it does,
beneath the shifting. Secret,
seething idioma of dream,
snatched wandering awake.

That canyon across which,
from Mojave to Palouse,
the only bridge, imagine,
is skeined caught light.

The hindsight is stark,
it's suggestions scudding
slung body-wise, a code,
for signaling, imagine.

The only instruction,
is the motion gravity
requires and instructs
nothing optional.

That's the expedition kit.
Everything you need,
will fit. The everything,
and the nothing.