(a photograph by Robert Adams)
Headlights light up a weed or cone of blossoms lifting off into shadows
driven by the demarcation of time.
They are forever back there as we go forward in the undifferentiated dark.
Part of the trouble is the echo of objects just past and to a lesser degree,
those about to arrive.
They fade out slowly
those conical bright shapes out from the field & across the dashboard.
He had walked into/fallen into the truck crossing the road.
Later he had fallen into the water near the pier.
Earlier he had decided or he hadnt decided or it had shaped itself around him.
Its hard to see the sunflowers in the dark but the dark center surrounded
by the many gray petals is immediately clear, despite shadows,
despite tricks played on the eye.
It seems more than obvious that nothing particular is about to happen.
When the painters paint the white line down the middle of the road do they see
how it shines in the near dark nearly upon us.