Cracks

Ok, I've been slacking on the web browsing, and I'm too tired tonight to make up for the lack.  If you're reading this, sorry, but you'll just have to settle for something resembling a poem.

Cracks

The crack in the slate blue sky 

promises mountains 

somewhere past the hi-way, 

where blacktop 

becomes topsoil, 

and the guard rails 

are green, soft, and sometimes make you itch. 

Where some go on vacation; 

empty the city, and walk cool oxygen trails 

rich with time's somnolence, 

and stare up into the branches 

looking for cracks of blue sky 

to slide into.