by LJ Frank

En route west beyond the city traffic and the vast billowy fog

a shadowy moon ascending above the road-scape in the mountains

I was conscious of the straight-up jazz emanating from the radio

though my thoughts retained an ambiguous melody from the past,

the red dial glowed on the instrument panel as it moved to the left

while I de-accelerated past a fallen sign and a fortuitous pact

strings from a piano, keys on a clarinet, full lips from a sensual moment

beyond the tinted windshield of a memory and the outline of her face

I squinted, reached over the steering wheel and rubbed the glass

she was fading in and out as she existed now only in my head,

the madness of the poet’s soul is self-awareness

and that words are but an existential  promise

a reflection bounded by the restless limits of a thought

for the most provocative appeal being the quiet conversation in the heart.