there’s a vagueness in fog

which I like riding aboard this bus

it pulling all of us toward the

vacancy of the signs it promises

view the sun stricken towns pass

now thinly frying streetlamps

give up their glow

see the service stations with their

assortments of things for sale

companies now defunct

each face framed

cars and trucks sleep into the dark

each stop each destination is

the windblown places and listen to the wheels squeak