6. Chocked

Chocked wheels,

a cart going nowhere,

fast unmoving

in the withering of time.

Dust gathers

crowding the terraces

to watch the decay.

The week could start

with the brakes on,

blinkered to progress

and a road untraveled.

Today is Monday, unmapped;

the week ahead unwrapped,

the path not charted by the stars

but the palm of a broken hand.

This is where love starts

for dust-ridden lives -

first-footing toward a hill

and an ugly scar

that tore the sky

for hours

once

upon

an Easter.