Glass crowded with bursts of reflected light

Through glass crowded with bursts of reflected light—warm wooden

tables over sturdy chairs—I am peering at pulsing

streaks and flashes of headlights through dense shimmering rain-walls—

red light green yellow back to red—cameras track traffic—

beam it in to nerve centers and into glass-filled data.

It is a dark night sodden with heavy rain. Swirled headlights

blend into stretched-out tubes and ribbons of light. With my blurred

exhausted, faded, no-longer-alert vision, I roll—

too fast for some, too slow for change—roll uphill on my own

power—my fuel efficiency drops in the climb—I ease

off speed to slow consumption—bring abundance to a dark

future where winds will howl across mining wastes—where air roars

opaque with dust. Flecks of wisdom stick to my hair, await

some opportunity to enter via my inner

ear and teach me humility, fleck by fleck. My eyes wince

in the cold, dusty wind—light burns through to my vision—bold,

dream-filled warriors wait for the call to take on the new

master. Through glass crowded, light bursts through things to light the way.

walking all day