Becoming a passenger
on a trip that I usually drive
opens my eyes to the sides:
I see not as driver,
focused ahead and behind
seldom to sides,
but as rider.
And there on the sides
for the rider to see
are horses grazing
and brilliant green alfalfa
sprouting like flames
and signs I never see, advertising
anything you could want.
Now I want not
to drive,
but to be a passenger,
eyes open
looking to the sides
where there is life.
Not straight ahead and behind
where there is machine after machine.
The sides, oh the sides;
no, you drive.
