Glass plate, window to the road, the future, caked in red dust and
baked in sunlight, showing nothing but blue skies ahead,

I wish it had only been blue skies ahead.
I’ll never forget that warm summer afternoon when it was you instead of the sunrays beaming through the windshield,
when the air was so hot, we had to roll down the windows,
except, of course, the windshield remained,
and you didn’t.