Out my driver's side
There is a clear night sky
full of constellations,
none that I can reach
filled with inquiries
for which I have no clue
Long drives always create this:
so much blank space
too much to ponder, not enough time to do it in.
Gazing upward does not reassure,
it only leaves me wanting,
not knowing what I want in return
It is a vast curious sky,
but selfish, like me.
I have my own list of questions I want answered