Fingers of God

Roads curl up under the haggard sky
Stiff like dry petals of a lotus flower
The frayed tips pointing as if heavenward.

I believed all rivers lead to the seas
Until I saw this one these sands suck dry
Where nothing the banks and the bed can do.

Shade-vapors pilgrimaging up
From the washed shrine of a canvas
Soon to be something that never happened.

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