The cars across the median are glowing strings of pearls moving slowly toward me as I drive, for miles and miles these glowing, floating lights; the snow flitters to the ground and I catch reflections in them as if showered in sparks; who could guess that this was always waiting, beyond the glass and wiper blades: steel can turn invisible.
In the driveway my father steers while I push the car, and as the snow turns from crunch to slickness; the side lamp broadcasts a rainbow across monochrome; the red turn signal pulsing flames against powder, sparkling tiny thunderstorming crystals dissolving into gray blue oceans beneath these tires spinning, spinning, spinning- and no real honest way to say this is a love poem.
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