Lovely that autumn peeks on the vines
against the walls separating wood from concrete.
Tree and highway and everywhere we go is bumper to bumper.
This is a median: yellow
dumpsters filled with sand and water,
concentric circles like concentric
squares like leaves and cars
we are meeting in the middle.
Autumn, you exist only in hills.
We knoww you, highway, only exist
in hills. Travelers, pick your middle,
pick where you ride. Lastly,
speed, go slow, and as our
ribboned car doors pass by this season
let us know by letting us know.