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Description
The storm clouds are my pillows and I drive to the heart of them, wrapped in lightning and rain
The mountains offer me sleep, quiet, dark, and their dim music beats on my ears like the drums of the distant past
And as I blink in and out I let my face hit the window, singing along and forgetting how to hurt for a minute (maybe an eon)
The rumbles of the thunder above and beneath me are clean and comfort, blankets in clouds and the miles rolling by
Sleep descends and I am not safe, but sheltered through Kansas and Boston, through the journey and the rush of the raindrops a hair's breadth from my eyes