That driver was friendly, smiling at me
perched in the back seat, abject with aplomb.
What else does one do? His mercy won’t see
weary ambivalence netted in calm.
Highways together; alone and then merged,
south headed north soon to fly south again.
Baby steps faltering, burden not purged;
it’s brave to be out in this raw spring rain.
Hope is a feeling and love was a word.
Freedom is flying and freedom is loss.
Absence is only a way to be heard.
No line was straight so I zigzagged across.
All else falls silent save poetry’s voice,
dissecting the shaded solace post choice.
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