Riding down I-95

Here’s a poem I wrote about a road trip riding down I-95 on a stretch of highway between Daytona and St. Augustine. It’s about letting go…kinda sad, kinda happy…its one of my favorites.


On I-95

80 miles per hour,

we ride


past the palms and pines.

I watch red taillights grow in size,

then dissipate

halogen blue in the rear view mirror.

You and I,

we laugh and tease and push each other in familiar ways.

Tonight’s music is yours.

I turn up the best ones,

letting the rhythm tangle in our souls.

Our words,

yours and mine,

melt together ,

the stories of our lives

painting pictures on the dash.

This is perfection.

Right here.

This moment.

My heart nods,


this is what I wanted,

what I asked for,

this fraction of a second,

this exhalation of happiness.

You and me and the open road.

And then, just as the moment came,

it was gone,

whisked away

with the pulse of our engine.

I look back

I imagine

wisps of our words dancing down the highway,

tossed and tumbled across the asphalt,

left in unretrievable shards.

And this, I say, is good.

For you are gone….

You, the one with the radio.

You, the one who’s words drew my heart in crazy knots.

You, the one whose grasp was always a little too far out of reach

This is gone.

And that is okay,

because for a moment I held it frozen.

In a flash of the high beams,

this delicate happiness stood still.

And though this trip is over

I rejoice.

For the path keeps going.

More moments ahead.

More roads to ride.

More magnificent words to be lost on I95.


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