Daily Passage

Another car, another stretch.

The same grey asphalt, seam by seam.

I count the cracks, the worn-out etch

of faded paint, a waking dream.

That same billboard, half torn down,

advertising something long gone by.

Another shift, across the town,

beneath a dull, indifferent sky.

I know the dips, the places where

the concrete buckled, years ago.

The ghosts of moments hanging there,

moving fast, but oh so slow.

Just blurring lines, a forward pace,

a constant journey, leaving no trace.