Zero visibility possible,
you read aloud. The logic’s water-tight:
there’s always a good chance for lack of sight.
We left late. This valley’s crossable
on good days, but today, the signs are flashing
Dust storms may exist. Or they may not.
Mirages shimmer like our love, caught
somewhere out there just below being.
Is there nothing here to see, or can
nothing be seen?
So we drive on, enmeshed
in what may not exist, our baffled flesh
tumbling down this road that hope began.
In zero visibility, we gaze
into the hazy now and then and always.
—J. C. Scharl
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