she’s yearning for that free road
and she hasn’t set foot yet
but someday in her old age
she’ll look back at her youth
and realize that what everyone else said
about childhood was so untrue
because all they cared about were
material things and superficial experiences
that didn’t mean anything besides the purity
of the moments.
and she’s thirsty for that highway path
and her tank’s half full half empty
but she doesn’t floor the pedal just yet
because she knows the tumbleweeds dent metal
and she’s unsure where the strip leads anyway
so she won’t go until the signal flares its
“you’re allowed to live” digits.
and she’s longing for the open thoroughfare
where thoroughness speaks for itself
and borderline personalities blend into one another
but remain clear as the orange-red star setting
over the mere mirror of sheet glass
projects rays that travel at infinite mass
and instance pauses in mid-motion
and she finally sees through her now
transparent identity.
