Still, the clock

Still, the  clock:

Back and forth

Settled, regular, like the heart.

Staccato notes

Dum dee, dum dee, dum dee

Patterned background chatter

Morning song that fades

With the scrape of shoes

still dark morning drive

still dark morning drive

There's something about the feel
of a still dark morning drive
when the houses sleep
and the moon travels beside you
on the black and golden river.
There's something about the journey
when the yellow and sharp blue
circles and slashes of the dash
reflect like cockpit lights
in the window by your shoulder
and on your own dark face, co-pilot
in the windshield straight ahead.
There's something about the solitary lights
of some fellow morning traveler
for whom you feel a sudden warmth,
two explorers setting out before the rest.
It can be two hundred miles or twenty, no matter.
It is the feel of going somewhere,
humming through the still dark morning,
sailing on the ribbon of road,
fueled by anticipation, thinking about nothing
except your travels toward a brand new, bright new day.