Mourning
when you were tucked in your grave,
neat as a napkin in a lap,
all words soared off to
some shining tree,
bereaving me
now they’re transforming
into things that hurl by,
things strange and rare,
bewildering the air
Highways
we design the air
with our rapt mobility
balance the moon on a windshield
set wheels to outspin stars
push past speed limits
heedless of our futility