He pushes back his plate, pours more coffee,
And lights another. He sighs long and deep.
A grin creases his face as the sun beams
Through the trees, the breeze sways needled branches
Like praying dancers, clouds drift like canoes,
And the highway rests still as a glass lake.
A French inhale, a steaming sip, knuckles
Popped as the Jaguar’s speakers reproduce
Voices a cappella singing of roads,
Fatigue, strength, and moonlight on cool water.