Driving Alone

At Lake Erie, the sky collapsed
in snow. My headlights lit up
a miniature globe before me, a world
too small to navigate.

What does it mean when the only
signs we have of others
are the lights they send out?
I made it somewhere safely.

Or safely made it somewhere.
I can’t remember how. Who knows
what we pass unseen.

Read this and two more poems at The Boiler.