Interstate Communion

Driving down the Interstate,
in the West,
on an early Summer evening,
my dreams speed out ahead of me,
showing me a life
not nearly finished.
While at the next slowly-curving turn,
my memories flood out behind me,
overwhelming the road back there,
forcing me to remember the places I've been
seconds, and minutes, and years ago.

 

Out here, in the West, on the Interstate,
for long hours,
as darkness takes its time descending,
I can almost feel
that it is not the sun which sets,
but rather it is the earth rolling me back,
and down,
and away from the light.

 

Out here, in the Summer,
on the Interstate, at night,
when the darkness is done descending,
it is not quite complete.
Down to the left, caught in my headlights,
painted road stripes flash by.
Over to the right
reflective mile markers rise and fall.
But these quick moments of light,
only add counterpoint,
only reinforce,
the vast, empty darkness.

 

Out here, in the West, on the high plains of the night,
there might be nothing between me and the stars;
no velvety dark clouds, no moon ready to roll up,
not even a sky that I know to be up there but which I cannot see.
I might be in outer space, 
on a dark, timeless journey between distant worlds;
only my illuminated dash 
and the steady white flash
to keep me moving forward, 
to keep me company.

 

Out here, at night, alone,
speeding smoothly along,
I feel alive, and singular,
and comfortably a part,
of this anonymous universe.
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