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.