Turning his head to the blur of color
Through an open window to feel
Alive despite the death of summer

The side view mirror reflecting hindsight
Her gaze could only be an assumption
In a torrent of flashing white

She could be his forever
A chance encounter in a passing lane
Or a little respite from late summer's weather

Finishing her sentences in his head
He will never lay beside her
Holding onto a dream in an otherwise empty bed

Into the silk of a stranger
The smell of a shampoo woven
A dance not shared and nothing left to linger

A name he would never know
As she sped past the light
Ignoring the quiet red glow.