It started as a way for you to cope
with loss. The labyrinth of county roads.
Within your harmonies on mournful songs,
you offered up your heart, pleaded for peace.
With your commutes, no matter the length,
you found yourself switching off the music.
With others beside, in front, or behind you,
you confessed, you repented, you requested.

You pray aloud less often, preferring hum
of interstate, radial drone of wheels,
air rushing by tightly sealed tinted glass,
pine tree air freshener the holy incense.
Gas pedal pressed hard underneath your foot.
Thousands of RPMs towards the divine.