Red Light

January 2003
Memory cries out from somewhere far behind us,
a thin voice lost in the engine's roar
as we speed away.

In an hour we'll forget the warning.
Tomorrow, the voice.
Acceleration starts to feel like gravity.
And the motor—

—just the rushing of wind over the open sea,
fading to a murmur here on the shore
where we contemplate evening's first few stars (distances, trajectories),
idly planning our next engine.