The air seems cleaner in December
with rusty snowpiles catching
the dirt, in summer, falls away...
At this,
I remember being younger
wishing every day was shorter
back flat, laying idle against the backyard
as I watch the colorless horizon fall down on me
and melt into me.
Its ten to seven in the morning
this lot feels emptier than empty
at a time when not even shadows are awake.
My engine hums on idle,
I rest my back against the seat
and watch as my headlights mock the sunlight
that in these stolen morning moments I wish
wouldn't come so soon.
The air seems cleaner when you're younger
with open mouths catching
the snow, with age, just melts away...