Envoi: Interstate 93
You have gone to sleep--it's late--
And has been long--and will be later
Still, before the white thread leads us home.
The car drones. Outside, waiting
Motionless in winter moonlight,
Banks of close-knit pines hold silent.
Gradually your shoulder finds my shoulder.
Hillsides drowse with half-closed eyes--
The same snow-lidded rocks, no other
Trees, no other clocks than one;
And how long has it been now since the road
Was any different than it was?
No other lights in sight--even
Headlights-off, the highway clear...
I wonder what you'd say? if I pulled over,
Woke you up and said, "We're here!"