Deep autumn - 
my neighbor,
	how does he live, I wonder?
	
Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)

reflection © Marko Tovares

content

a morning:
The freeway's thick stream
stumbles to awkward halts.
Trapped cars, motors tensed
crouch forward
in vain a few feet
still practicing movement,
the constant
disappointment of
a bumper ahead.

We glance into mirrors
adjusting seats, selves in
seatbelts,
practicing patience,
creating diversion,
and then,
with nothing more left to do,
suddenly startle 
at the surprise apparition
of a person
in the car
an arm's length away,
as our swarm
of idle steel shells
begins cautious discovery
of their common content.