Toward The Sea Poem by Brian Rihlmann

I sleep a few hours
before my eyes pop open.
It's way too early, but
I'm antsy, an eight year old boy
before a family camping trip.

So I throw my suitcase
in the car and hightail it
out of town at 2 a.m.,
neon casinos aglow
in my rearview.

Dark grey skies
shroud Donner summit,
as wildfire smoke blots out
every single star.

But an orange half moon
like a thumbprint smudge
follows as I drive west,
peeking through treetops
darker than the night.

I stop to stretch at a rest area
and see moths dancing
with swirling ash flakes
in dusty cones of lamplight.

Rub my eyes
swig some java,
and hammer it
back up the on ramp
to a steady whine,
set the cruise for ten over.

I'm all alone out here,
except for a few
night owl rig jockeys,
this highway is mine.

I smile, use both lanes
to smooth out those
sweeping mountain curves
like a formula one driver,
no signaling necessary.

My headlights shine
on the dotted white line,
like an ellipsis...
luring me toward the sea.