From where to where the question spins.
A roar of throttle run aways.
Escape is energy enough,
Escape and mysteries in rain.
They split the emptiness of streets,
And leave their molten lines of tar.
Like Carver’s “Elephant” in flight,
The tyres barely touch the road.
Refractions in a thinning slick:
The life before has slipped and bloomed,
And through its rainbows run the tales.
They leave behind their drying tracks.
The stories we can only guess,
Or write our own escapes instead.
Inspired by the photograph of the same title, which can (and should) be seen here: