More and more I am drawn
to roads where trees form
a tunnel of branches, the sun
refracted in its light that cannot
fully penetrate that canopy.
And gray, rainy days to drive
these roads looking ahead
and left and right, checking
the rearview mirrors for
the unseen revealed suddenly
as my heart whispers to my
memories, “Come to me. Come
next to me” the rhythm of the wipers
taking on that ancient rhythm
of that dance always recognized
once that first step is taken
and then knowing there’s no
turning back, no refusal to drive
these roads in the tunnel of trees --
rain falling, the light just right
to see the unseen, the shadows
that argue their existence.
-Byron Hoot
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