"Life Passes"

"Life Passes"
September 2004

If you turn your head fast enough
the passing cars seem to
hold still for a moment
in suspended movement.
A boy discovers this and plays games;
traces the outlines of passing hills
with his fingertip,
left eye closed.
The world is outlines and images.
Shapes.
Movements frozen between periods
of thoughtless involvement in things not understood.
Not needing to be.
His father drives;
watches the lane dividers,
road signs, brake lights.
Life passes one mile marker at a time
and he wonders into the rearview mirror
when life stopped carrying him,
as he watches his son
squint out the window,
his finger slowly rising and falling.