Streetlights get tangled up in tree branches
making shadows that look like you did
in the dark. I chase those silhouettes
with my eyes hoping not to lose sight of them
as my car rounds corners on the roadway.
The radio is nothing but overblown warnings
about the storm to the west, and how it’s getting
closer and closer by the second.
I don’t care about any of that though,
even the tiniest fragment of you is worth
chasing into the worst chaos.
Why did you run away from this?
That is a question I will ask myself in the future
when I find out where you are.
Now is only a time for pointing headlights
in the direction of tomorrow, and hoping
nothing worse is up ahead.
Teleporting Typewriter 