[17 years old]
Boxes of light are buildings
beside water as black as molasses
that we pass as the buss blunders on.
And the bitumen road is a dark
tape rolling across the country
taking me home.
And thoughts are blurred trees
and drifts of clouds soft in the moon’s light.
And home is a place beyond the flat horizon,
and home is seeing faces familiar as daylight.
Source: Unknown. Approx. 1995