The 7:14 Pulse

The sun catches the salt on the glass

and turns the windshield into a clouded map

of everywhere I’ve been and everywhere I pass

while the radio fills up the morning gap.

At the gantry, the little box gives a glow,

a quick green flash that says I’m allowed to stay

in this line of cars moving heavy and slow,

paying for the privilege of the same highway.

There’s a crack in the barrier near exit four

that looks like a jagged lightning bolt in the stone.

I’ve seen it a thousand times, maybe more,

and it’s the only thing that feels like my own.