The journey, I see from the window
I miss that I cannot see the dark blue roads from above.
I want to see the bank on the second floor where people work beyond eight thirty at night.
The darkness outside, a subtle sense of the wheels making contact with the speeding road.
I am a small speck to the night bird perched near the moon.
But to me that world is the seat where I sit.
After a while, the bus starts to empty
I feel forlorn and then I think of you. the multiple variations of you.
There is no dong to suffice the day.
I want the road to not stop.
Let it be a beginning. It actually is.
And the earth conspires again.