Gas and pine, sand and salt abound,

nothing is abandoned, all is busy flying right on by

over the land and by the water

I let the wheels do the running for me though not to flee

as temporary captain in a driving sweat,

the vessel is minor and I have no hat to put out and catch

anyone who wants to share the blur,

or come along to make quick shadows for the journey

but no time to be lonely in a church of one,

I take in the incense of the region as it turns to a stream

with a highway to devour and shed,

I produce distance, with no need to ask where everyone is

Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.