Driving Through a Rolling Dawn
Long after first light
night yet clings to the slick highway.
Lungs steer the wheel;
breathe out and the wave-riding shocks
follows their beamed lights,
the road adjusts to unseen rapids,
curves around blacked-out river bends.
Breathe in, and eyes shutter out,
yet what was seen sails on.
I am scaffolding for water,
knowing this I have faith in
in the flow, the roads ability
to avoid Niagara or deluged rest stops,
the low flying raids of sky-drenched winds.
Mind rides its rafts, skims undercurrents
weaves in and out of dreaming sailors,
the drunk rocking of back axles
as they negotiate one Rubicon
after another.
Night parts its dim waves,
runs downhill into landscapes,
structures rebuilt only moments ago.
It might be raining, or it might be
spume and spindrift,
intermittent splashes of shorelines
just beyond the off-ramps.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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