Poem 78, day 82: Drive On

Drive On

 

If only

I knew beforehand.

More and more control

Is lost, despite

The promise of change.

 

The usual route was blocked.

Light did its best

To stretch itself further,

To brighten the street signs,

To ward off the dark.

 

The car

Felt like a toy.

The wind could be seen

In the arch of the trees,

The craze of the branches.

 

Fields of misted heather

Lined the view

In the distance,

Like the blur of a glass lens

Splattered with rain.

 

And then came

The villages,

Like forgotten belongings,

The regret

Of not glimpsing sooner.

 

Far beneath

The quarries loomed-

Gaping holes; little houses

Were lit, and called,

And called.

 

All I could do was drive on.