So many friends in the distance, waiting
there
for me . . . for the day to be
gone. For the next car on the
freeway to move fast enough.
And,
the answer? Where I sit in this
green
belt (can you see these trees?) above
the city, there is
nothing
to say in
answer to the question, to myself-to
you all, in the
small cars moving
away! other
than,
"Breathe in, breathe
again . . .
breathe on me."