Rowing south on 95

In the furnace of the city of
Baltimore, the buildings cook
in brilliant infinitesimal orange
light, even one-eyed Natty Boh--
the sky is swirling wrecking
ball blue and my mind rides the
ups and downs of the clouds
cutting thinly white between the
fires, I pass it in a 60 mph
instant--
the city cooked into the
night--the tunnel--to heaven's
darkness,
the floating membranes of
Earth's belly