A Road

This road I think it has always been here
It is colorless and shudders
It has only one subject
"You are a road and I am your subject"
I tell it when I walk it
I don't know if it will survive me
I have seen some roads die
There are dense trees on either side
I mean the trees are densely set
I don't know anything about their intelligence
The moon uses it as a thoroughfare
And the deer have their affairs there
Right in the middle of the road
They do it on the painted human stripe
Imagine      a deer orgy of not caring
The forest embraces the little it knows of this road
I was never even taught its name
Maybe this is why I love it so much
When I walk down this road
I walk right down the middle
Because it's a country road without houses
It's no less lovely when it is not there
I mean when I am not there to tell it things
The way I have spent my life talking to roads
And not people