For all who are traveling

[Driving home]

Here we are somewhere,
the streetlights seem.
They are planted in a row
firmly on the pavement.
From one end of the road
to the ending far-off lights,
the antipodes of moving stars
are one-by-one and are
going and going.
In a car like a
cat-in-a-box
where from time to time
the windows fog with sighs,
somewhere is somewhere. Gone.
The streets are tied in knots
overhead as if to catch
the world in its web or
more likely ask perhaps:
have the highways fallen
from the sky?
Let us then speak of the
future but please let’s
forget the past.
It is behind this behind that
and above below and
beyond us.
Like the highways to heaven
that fall and become the
demon road, the route of silver.
We shall forget them. Why,
we can run our fingernails across
the blacktop all along the
way out of this little town.
Maybe hope to dig some words
out of the ground or
scrape up hope at a time.
It’s been paved by man but
the winter is a-coming and
soon it shall fill with drops of water
so it may freeze then crack,
loudly as no one listens.
It leads to truth and this it
promises in the dim horizon.

(eduardo ramos)