Vanishing Point

The green of the grass is so geen the blue of the sky is so blue I think I’ve caught spring fever but as I ride my bike to Stanford along Palm Drive the palms vanish from grass and sky from squirrel and dove root and nest scurrying gliding into a blurred point of mere intension, no extension. What is life? Why hurry? Why pass the world by as if I were on an eight-lane freeway?

20 February 1981