Shadows pass on the other side
of frosted glasses. I can make out
trees, the shapes of hills, traces
of Interstate 74. 45 minutes out
I know intuitively where we are,
silently lip the names of the places
like a prayer: a mantra meant
to keep myself focused.
Shadows punctuated
by glaring fast food signs. Rolling
down the hill, I start counting
the minutes until the cityscape
will come into view. Shadows
surrounding the lights of houses,
street lights. Anonymous beacons
for other weary travelers.
Shadows engulfing what I leave
behind me. Seven hours north, echoes
of tears where once there were kisses
the warmth of your eyes
the inadequacy of it all
the absurdity of it all. I let
the shadows wrap themselves around me
as the city comes into full view.