Wake me
A drive by red stoplight
Up and over
The land - the hills
The urge to keep itching, keep scratching

Keep me from mundane
Familiar conversation with no thought
Nothing guiding
No real meaning
Introspection and motives lost
As the moment passes

Achingly slow, that fire
Runs through the ground and ignites
A smolder - I’m older and I don’t really feel the years

A hand reaching backwards
Tells me to keep up
Lest the conversation pull me away