A ROAD

I know a road which opens up before me
in the plains, the invisible mountains
of the air.
Trees undreamed of go with it
and give it shade. I have loved it
and feel disinclined
to be its pilgrim, for, to what Rome
will it take me, to what cherished land
beyond desire?

Near it there runs a river
and already the water reaches
my chest: it is transparent
yet lethal. And, while there is time,
I could reach its bank
and take
the road I perhaps have opened.

Through the mountains
and the plains of air
I see, among the clouds and birds,
edging round depths of light,
that road the gods
have denied themselves and now offer me.