my pull behind the steering wheel done, i can daydream
while sacred acres of farmland shaved clean of crops flanking
I65 South sleep quiet as the quick miles blur on by.
grateful…that the skulking skyline of the city
I can so readily despise, is now just a
road dust reflection in the rear view mirror.
and Band of Horses
they’re belting out “Funeral’ in my Bose,
such mournful vocal harmonies a warming elixir
to a soul that finds an odd comfort in abundant melancholy.
their echo reverb guitar licks swirl in sad circles around memories,
like the relentless night spider spinning its prey.
dropped far below the flat earth horizon,
Winter’s reluctant Sun wearily gave up on this day hours ago,
letting darkness lays its claim to the road and sky in flat black melding,
where the night language of mystery reads in permanent unison.
these eyes easily make the incremental adjustment,
exulting as the stark detail of days slowly erase from view.
i welcome the oncoming headlights,
the float of illuminated dashboard gauges,
and celebrate the digital glow of my laptop
as i compose poetry in this rolling writers retreat.
because it’s in the Night i trust,
in this copilot who’s steerage is always true by me,
in this forgiving solitude that my creativity prevails,
and in this Hope for another chance that only Night provides.