Late at night, when I’m driving,

with my radio head on, I have

a sense that all the world

a there before me, and all

I have to do is keep going

until I reach wherever it is

that I am heading. I love

the quiet night, the way the

street lights and headlamps

open shadows to show the unlit

ones they hide, the robbers,

the lovers, the night workers,

and others, covered in blackness,

smothered and blessed by

its dark kiss. Sometimes I feel

that I should not stop, that I

should drive on until I drop

off the edge of this world,

listening to the exit music

for my singular, insular film.

But the road, like time,

goes on and on. It is a means.

There is no end to it,

the tarmac black, the way,

the life, the road ahead.

May it always rise

with you.