Poem: You, the Road

All day I barely notice you; I just press
my imprecise steps into your curves.
I’m on my way somewhere, I know it –
but you just see me walking, don’t you?
I push through your noisy crowded
colors, your kaleidoscope of humans
and their fabrics, of buildings and their
blessed doors and windows. We’re all
on our way somewhere, all of us,
but at night:

You fold into yourself for me, and you roll out
an asphalt glimmer containing all the city’s
splendor in one knowing wink. My
wheels answer the riddles of your tilts and
bumps; your hard concrete carves the blood
through my veins and makes my vessels swell.
You met me here under the cover of night,
didn’t you? And now I understand you, now
we have this secret meeting place.

All day you belong to everyone, but at night
you’re all mine. I spread my fingers wide to catch
the wind, and you send it whispering through.
When I listen I can hear you, warm and rumbling
like the Earth itself. But mostly I feel you: fast under
my wheels, a blur if I’m doing it right,
always a little sweat on my lip and a grin
on my face, that’s you.

I’m always folding up during the day, moving
predictably like I’m supposed to. But alone
with you I bloom like a night-lily; I open wide, wide,
wide till my ribcage gives and my breath unfurls
into dusk-silver ribbons that go streaming
through the cool air. Whatever notions
I had before, whatever expectations or
disappointments, they are gone: ground to dust
between my wheels and your timeless grey.

There’s only motion; that’s all there ever is.
But sometimes, when the lights pulse along your
mirror-black stretches and I’m gliding,
I get a chance to savor it. Even when
it’s daytime, and I’m walking through the crowd, I
remember: under the moonlight we dissolve,
and this is all temporary anyway –
it’s all just motion,
a mindless
joyful
blur.

 

 

 

© 2025. This work is openly licensed via CC BY-NC-ND.