Suntitled

Suntitled

In the summer that was already fall, the 5 a.m. drive to take Mary home made me feel like we were driving through a cool Montreal summer, or possibly New York, or somewhere in Vermont, or one of those other places close to the edge of the earth that have the ability to remain cool during this season. Admittedly tired, we cruised along concocting stories about what we were doing out so late in the event that we should be pulled over by everyone’s unwelcome babysitters. I remembered the way back to Mary’s without any prompting and I got her back home safely. I headed back toward the freeway, missing the entrance the first time and having to u-turn to get on heading north. Driving north makes me feel like I am heading toward the end of dry land, to fall off into space like some 15^th century exploration vessel. Maybe it’s because I live near a lake.

Today, driving east made me feel like I was headed for the edge of the earth. I’m watching the sun rise as I head east (sun rises in the east, sun sets in the west as the old melody tells us). The tops of gray clouds look like a cliff as they morph into the real horizon stealing thunder and purpose like butterfly mimicry. Above the horizon clouds comes a light gray sending sunrays I can’t see but know are there off toward the west so some other insomniac in California or Washington can speculate as to where those rays are going a few hours from now. This patch of carelessly illuminated sky is bordered at its top by more of those clouds forming a sort of stripe heading north to south. These clouds blend with others in the north and south to surround me and create a tunnel in space as I drive toward the light.

The road is angled slightly uphill. I am climbing up toward the sky in a rocket car shuttle car flying car chasing smoldering dreams in circles for years within ages not caring one single bit that I’m not catching them because the pursuit is so beautiful. I am reaching the edge of the takeoff strip that will send me over the edge of the earth and into the faux-horizon’s elastic, waiting body. As I collide with the clouds I am redirected back to the west, this time flying upside down. Somehow I’ve seen this before and it’s like an instinct how I turn my rocket car shuttle car flying car right-side up and merge onto a sunray that’s moving just faster than my spinning tires pointlessly thrashing morning air. I’m heading out west to bring light to that insomniac. I’m heading out west to be for someone that joy I wish to feel. When I remind them that they still aren’t asleep they’ll realize that at least they’re alive and just as I’m hoping they’ll realize this, that sunray I’m riding will crash into their pupils and become their own hope. This is the only way I want to live.