We Are Highway Nights, Part IV

A fisherman's reel
is the strand to reel
the only one for me.

It's shocking where
we find ourselves sometimes.
Not in the mirror but standing
face-first in violent sunset glass.
Like little kids, noses against the wall.
A corner of Styx is where we find ourselves sometimes.
And how we ostracize the very sunset glass
that comprises our very own lungs.

"Winter is a cannibal," they say, "and spring a kleptomaniac.
Summer a pervert, and autumn a lame,"
say they. Say they who are
no better than the equinox itself and
so they are Winter.

We hear, but hold tight to each other's hands,
squeezing eyes shut and praying

subconsciously.
"we are highway nights and we pray to You, Our
Father, who art in Heaven, hallow by thy..."

nameourkingdomcomeourwillbedoneonearthasitisinHeaven.

Author's Note

tell me what you think