More and more I am drawn 

to roads where trees form

a tunnel of branches, the sun

refracted in its light that cannot

fully penetrate that canopy.

And gray, rainy days to drive

these roads looking ahead

and left and right, checking 

the rearview mirrors for 

the unseen revealed suddenly

as my heart whispers to my 

memories, “Come to me.  Come

next to me” the rhythm of the wipers

taking on that ancient rhythm 

of that dance always recognized

once that first step is taken 

and then knowing there’s no 

turning back, no refusal to drive

these roads in the tunnel of trees —

rain falling, the light just right 

to see the unseen, the shadows

that argue their existence.