Fealty

Fealty, pray, to the cells of my feet
for they carry me between the green and the red
mountains.  Fealty, pray, to the cells
of my hand, for they lay the symbols
for what I feel when crossing the road
and catching the windshield glare;
what I feel when the glare doesn't fade
even as I continue strolling for miles,
winding my way home alone in the heat;
what I feel when standing too swiftly
and the earth is rushing into my brain;
what I the snake feel when I slip
from my skin, and into the next.

Fealty, pray, to the drive of living,
to the grip of the steering wheel and excitement
of my destination, because I'm not there yet,
and thank God that there is better than here.
And thank God, fealty, pray, to swearing
no oaths of fealty when there becomes here.