I have memories attached

to curves in the 

road, moments encapsulated by 

long strentches of highway. They

return briefly to existence as

I travel them;

anxiety trembling in

my fingers around that bend,

annoyance tempered across

my brow at the next.

Blinding laughter of 

the young and jubilant and

reckless. I have poured my

heart out in these

yellow lines. 

On the road is where you'll

find me, reclaiming a lifetime

of memories printed in

trees and sky and

sun, and miles of

open, endless

road.