On an interstate between two Midwest cities
at three in the morning
I’m driving alone.
It’s cold, but there’s moisture in the air,
so I can see the glow of the sparse cities
against the hazy ceiling, not far above
the unyielding expanse of farmland.
One of the halos is up ahead, the city where I will
meet my companion for the remainder of the trip.
In the rearview, my home’s glow fades more
with each passing mile.
On my left is a steady glow, another town,
I rarely visit though I know a few people
who live there. It rides alongside as I make my way
from one city to the next.
The way the lights hang in the sky,
emanating from the cities below,
lets me experience all of the cities at once,
no longer separated by the travel time.
In this moment, the world seems much smaller.