Blink, blink the yellow lines
down the middle of the road.
Morning passes out of fiction,
though for a moment,
real it didn’t seem.

Light floods. Even the tension
of the visor strains at its hinge
as I muse beyond
the uncut grass
alongside the road
with the windows down.
 
I can hear the crow of the cocks
at the house on the corner
with the dogs and goats.

Buzzards scatter
as I turn wide at the sign
to clear the corner.
I cannot recall
the reason we hurried.