White Rock

In the middle of nowhere On the new national highway Transfixed I stood With a broken down car An April sun fumed above I had just passed a board Which named the place White Rock There wasn’t anything white around Just a small village of scattered huts Looming black granite hills Surrounded by desultory woods Perhaps a pearly rock hill white Had stood there before An extreme singularity And unwillingly given way To the tapering highway A geological marvel A prehistoric volcanic spit Or a meteor that landed with a fiery thud No one knows And in moonlit nights It might have resembled from above A domed UFO hidden in the woods Lovers of the village had sat on it Shared their sweet aches in tight embrace Or in the morning sun Cobras had mated at its foot Their moist mouths in rainbow hue Hooded bodies coiled like vine In sublime dance of ecstasy It has vanished without a trace A keyhole to prehistoric past The Sun sprang illusory pools On the unending asphalt tape That fumed and ran further down Into an unknown future Christened a nation’s dream Sans any link to the past