That fogged the skyline through a dirty windshield.
With a suitcase in the back and a book bag in my lap
To keep me warm, future plans chattered out of steel bones:
Future dads that clamor out of sealed homes
With windowpanes that play dead
Until the lingering night fingers on to the west
Where I go now. Where they had gone.
What I had left, and how they moved on.
Where airplanes go and sink by the sea,
Why winds prevail without a sense of meaning.