It seemed the best way to follow that straight line
unobstructed so straight and perfect
point by point projected forward
yes a slight descent yes a slope so gentle
not steep at all nor rough or suspended
the High road of hope the master pathway
the chronology that fears deviance
at some point I quit that journey
time curved and revealed the mirage
in a pool of water I reflected my face
I saw myself dirty and muddy from rain
I saw that the mystery had long absconded
that the straight line had been a dead end
an illusion a dream distant and faded.