On the way home
Lamp posts across the skyway formed a diamond necklace in the sky, spewed along a black canvas, dragging you home, singing a soft tune: I am here. The windshield became a portal into a painting.
The pavement became one with the borders of the glass, taking you in. The air outside was vivid to the eye. Inside the vehicle, the subtle caramel smell of the Sleepwalk Circus plays like water on the skin, it is a finger pressed against the lip.
In another road, in another timeframe, there is a girl crossing a busy street. Weary of cars, looking left and right. Her hair dances with the wind like slow waves crashing into the sand bed. Sea foam, sea spray. She remembers a vague moment of a long drive home.
