Metanoia
Location
Writhing snakes of fog and of glass
glide gingerly across streets
clinging to the tires of
mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons
as they drive
across mountains, through valleys,
into the clouds
and back down.
They pass the ditches
where bodies lay
lost and captive to the words,
"I quit"
And they can say,
"I made it farther"