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Poem
I stare at the stark darkness ahead,
My hands squeeze the steering wheel
While a simple trepidation musters its way to my heart
The road is long, my headlights keeping shadows in check
I see the smooth path, intrigued by its uniform contentment
My tires and many tires before have moseyed yonder upon it
In the dark and light alike, with perspectives all their own,
Had they once thought, in the dusk or in the sun,
How much more will this road tolerate?
How much harder will the sun beat upon it,
And will the chilled darkness one night crumble it to nothingness?
There is no answer of course,
For they are silly inquiries, dimming campfire talks
And really, questions stem from a lonely mind blabbering alone…

The road moves unobtrusively,
Or am I moving?
Pressing this car with privilege to play its role,
Bravely contacted with the cold
Running steadily
Through the friction of the tires
This road, it will crack someday, in all the usual places
 Dulling, eroding, becoming near-natural
Just to be made new and safe again
Ready for man and roadkill…

I will ask one more time for solitude’s sake,
Why is it so perpetually smooth?
I expected a bumpy night in this desolate stretch
But we should not have the ability to expect what disturbs us…
I am reminded that roads do not mean to satisfy little wonderments
Can care less for these zooming contrivances
That we sit in comfortably, turning on the radio to drown out the mutability
Tonight I bask in it, and though I am not fully lost in the night,
The road and this car keep me feeling secure,
Even when surrounded by wilderness

It occurs to me a lot—
How can one feel so human?
In the comfort of a car, we escape the darkness of the wild
Only barely,
And the road behind me,
Well it is abandoned, forgotten for a while
Till more wheels spin across its surface some other day
It is so smooth,
Barren and ordinary
Not existing to dream its own existence
But it is gracefully real, and getting realer
As I continue to gaze through the glass
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