That’s What They Say

They say:

over there,
somewhere,
is an ancient road
laid down upon
a meridian,
perhaps along
a ley line
long ago —
its surface
now piecemealed by frost
over time,
that steady damage punctuated
with divots torn
by occasional cannonballs.

Where it goes,
where it comes from;
which end is origin, which
destination;
can’t tell those things
from standing
on its injured pavement,
somewhere between.

Picking a direction
and traveling along it,
mindful of holes and cracks
and of a potential, sudden,
fatal blow
from one projectile
or another:  
even risking life
and sanity
to walk it
is no sure way to learn
about this road,
but it’s all they can do
so they do.

At least,
that’s what
they say;

then again,
they’re sitting here
safely in front of us
and can only give 
vague directions
as to exactly 
where that road
might be.