Across the railroad tracks, down the gravel road. headlights throw a beam on the way back home. lie down, lie down, listen wide awake. to the trains that roll, to the sound time makes.
I remember driving down the rutted roads late at night. Following the summer moon bright as any pair of headlights. I felt the air on my face and the night pressed inside my palm.
Looking back is not the same as looking forward. You can't see what it is you're heading toward. All that's visible is what's left behind. The dreams distilled and the dreams discarded.