Don't Walk

The mist peels off the tar stuck pavement,
wipers startle alive and across.
Destinations unknown,
they welcome the wanderer,
the lost soul.

The drops race down the glass pane.
Our expectations meet the wet in the sky,
rise and fall.
Is the sky the limit? Is there a speed limit?

The air is cool and gentle,
it rests on our shoulders.
Smells like dogwoods,
like damp bark.
Our arms open to the road.