Photo Credit: Patience

I have driven
thirty minutes to work,
every day,
for the past four years,
and sunrises
fill my morning commute.
Pinks and yellows and reds
ignite the dawn sky
making the miles fly
on rosy wings.

It’s beautiful.


My words
fog and evaporate
next to the high desert sunrise.

But that’s not why I’m telling you this.

They are lovely
but I never really notice.
They should make mornings
inspiring and uplifting
and all that.

Shouldn’t they?

I listen to the radio
and drive through the colors
and try to keep myself
from weeping my way
through my makeup.

And why?

The music
or the sky
or the crisp early spring air
transport me
to another early spring
when I called
and you laughed
and we made plans.

I see the road
stretching its warm arms east
and the sun peeking over the horizon.

I’m awash
in purples
and yellows
and blues
as the day awakens
to embrace the land,

and I see the colors
and your face
and I drive
and try not to cry.


Photo Credit: Patience


Honestly, the pictures don’t do them justice either.




5 thoughts on “Commute

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