Adrift

You cannot choose what sky arrives
on your day to drive, when you pull away
from a yard where moss swings gently
from old trees and pink azalea blooms,
quietly wild, and you merge onto a highway
where water spills so heavily you cannot
see what's right in front of you,
and your car, like all the others, weaves
in and out of lanes, a fish in violent tides.

Copyright © 2006 Christine Poreba All rights reserved
from Ellipsis
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission