The window is a glass movie screen,
translucent reflections superimposed
while the rising sun waits patiently
behind the zooming landscape
revealing intervals of intense light
like the flashes of a camera,
a snapshot of something fleeting

Telephone wires like electric guitar strings, 
score composed of an engine's groan,
bodies sway at the mercy of the road
as the bus traces a familiar cement scar
cutting through a cross-country backdrop

Nature's film reel develops cypress-lined hills
rising and falling
like the subtle curve of a spine,
restlessly shifting to find comfort
my back aches in this damn seat