West

Dizzy is the road at night in hit of wind.
Red tail lights trail gone around the bend
where sudden are come head lights of blind,
and front-end bears down hard on the curve.

He says he hates night and squint anxiety.
He can’t abide the rain-drop smear and grimace
of wiper blade’s swipe too soon across the pane.
Muscle tension searches dark for exit.

I say: One day we rose above the valley,
and hills stepped to mountains’ graduate angles
of mystery neither height nor depth solved.

I saw glimpses of this strange road: sometimes
north, sometimes south. Yet the hope of miles
is achieved. On this road, you only go west.