Two-Lane Asphalt
June 30 2006


Two-lane asphalt on a summer night,
driving without lights.
The gauges glow green
and a sliver of moon flickers between the trees.

Fireflies caught on the windscreen,
their tiny tail-lights still firing
like batteries about to die.
And outside, more points of light,
as if heaven had descended in a shower of shooting stars.
Or handfuls of glitter, whimsically tossed
to celebrate a silly cause.
Or at the pyromaniacs’ Mardi Gras,
flicking lighters on-and-off
and lobbing sparklers carelessly.
Or behind the wheel of a flying saucer
as it ghosts softly through the Milky Way.
Or did I turn left by mistake
transported to some magical glade
where sprites dance under tiny candles
at the fairies’ weekly parade?

My windshield glows with rare constellations of fireflies.
Until the headlights are switched-on again
— back on a summer night on a country lane.