The rain paints my windshield

black, but I can read each drop

like a Bible in Braille as it courses

down the glass, delicate, leaving

my story until the denouement.

 

High beams gleam off of the eyes

of roadside deer, coy will o’ wisps

that beg for me to pull off the road,

take a pause to raise my head

in unison with the wild, feeling

the spirits run through my gaze

until my vision fades for all time.

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