Eastbound on I-40

The windows, are down,

and the world rushes by me, 

like a liquid terrace, 

as far as the eye can see.

I am a part of a current,

a cell in a bloodstream,

racing at the speed of light,

a perfect harmony of earth and machine.

The wind races by,

like some ghostly spirit,

but I drive on,

until I can’t even hear it.