Car lights break onto the road,
clearing a path to the next place.
Road signs rise and fade. The radio
pulses the air, tossing sounds onto
passing driveways and street corners;
street lights blanch a small circle
of temporary safety.
Strangers are willows,
bending to the course of their travel.
They smile without reason, dreaming of
where they should be, rallying thoughts
against the inevitable; good intentions
washed from the high tide of life.
The car finds a new road. Undiscovered
territory. Everyone is quiet. The engine
Is thirsty for adventure. At the next
crossroads they turn right.
Roger Singer 