Ecclesiastes Road
By Patrick T. Reardon
See and see: Each time passes.
Journey is taken. River runs.
Green brittles. 
Tall withers. Sun is blind.
Blood dries to grit. Clock locks.
I line my dashboard with communion
of saints, each action figure holier than
I, driving west down Ecclesiastes Road,
listening to sacramental noise of wind
through open windows, liturgical sweat,
no expectation of revelation whisper,
itch to make distance, cover ground,
miles to go before miles to go, across
flatland to blank-face mountain, never
to be reached.
Remember now. Rains come and go.
Clouds remain. Strong men bend.
Girders are ground. Doors are shut.
Voice of bird has no music.
Desire fails. Bowl shatters. Spirit dust.
Some day, I will
breathe out my
sorrows finally.
Patrick T. Reardon
4.12.20
This poem was originally published in the 2019 Adelaide Literary Award Anthology, published 4.24.20.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.