Highway
They stop—
the old hours I never did want.
I watch the sun fall into land.
The sky turns from yellow to dusty orange—
I can breathe.
Dark is almost here with all its stars.
I run
along the least used highway.
No one is here. I laugh in my exhilaration
and hide when I see a car.
They are chasing the too close sun I watched leave us.
I won't go that way—
I face the coming
gentle night.
Autumn Williams