where
each arrival
departs in a frenzy
and a thousand new
vapour trails appear
in a haze

the guide up front
merges landmarks
with words, rushing
to finish what was
never begun

while I fumble
with my camera
for a good shot of
these blurred
lines

so I can
later abide time
in a room full of maps,
holding tightly to the
memory of a place
I never found

– tell the driver
to slow down, I shout,
before noticing my foot
on the accelerator and
the wheel grasped
in my hands

I brake
and the flow of words
comes to a stop as the
guide gestures out over
the side with newly
contented eyes

Yes
you are waving –
you were waving
the whole time.