The cars past deathful fast, bringing up jewels of headlamps from the crook of the road. They come from, to bottom indistinct specks under the lights. Blue and orange they pass, sighs wiping off the face of the cars like ghosts. The red lights blink on the radio tower: the red fireflies in brakelights flare. Beneath the patches of street lights, amber, purple, fading ghost purple and all warm, this lonely stretch of nighttime water.

for r.m.