This one started with a phrase -- well, two phrases, I guess. First the one about static -- driving home across Ohio the other night, mile after mile driving through snow, pale daylight to grey twilight and then night, snow like static through it all. And later, after I'd been dropped off and had to drive home from Huntington in my own car, the snow had stopped, although the roads were still terrible, but the air was fine and cold and it made everything from the neon-bright gas stations to the stars look too sharp and clear, too real. And that's the title.
Clarity after snow
White flung onto a black night,
driving through static we follow
a tail-lit line of uncertain leadership.
Time and traffic slow and
stumble, the road made irrelevant,
markers obscured, do we need them, or not?
Though we long for a destination
surviving the journey becomes the thing;
flying from the road to the wind to the sky,
tracks gone, directions useless,
left only with the snow,
the night, the lights,
you with me inside these cars,
lost as we.