and into the streaming flow of the freeway the taxi merges, concrete lined vein through the city. smooth headlit sailing in the night. veins filled with shuddering energy, caffeine nicotine glossed cars, rectangled fleeting glimpses of unreality hanging in the air, large glistening bottles of zima, Got Milk?, short sly pretensions to win you over to their side suddenly, to give you an unsuspecting affection for a name, for a look, for an image. forced associations. you take them for granted. sometimes they crash into each other, bodies ripped apart in the fray, blood spilling into the roadway, everyone slowing down to stare. but it is cleaned up quickly, efficiently. commuters are informed by the radio. the bird in the sky watches over the flow, reports changes. i watch her face looking out the window of the taxi unseeing. but who am i? i am just another passerby. we look into each other’s windows only to verify ourselves, to reassure some desire, some need. we sit enwrapped within sheets of manufactured metal, buckled in. we rush towards our destinations, anger charging against those who get in our way. objects in our path. i can not feel her tonight. she slips away in the stream, lost in the noise of a million other travelers speeding on their way home. i will wait until she is on her feet again, out of the projecting hustle of humanity. i will wait until i can feel the silence again, the embedded weight of her space folding into nothing. she has something to say. she has something to do. i will let her go until she is ready to move on her own. i have to stop telling her what to think. i have to learn to listen. shh. do you hear? do you feel the pressing emptiness of our connections, the spaced gaps through which sparks flow flying across into sudden meaning in their death? there are images we project, smiling, acting. but there are also images indefinable, glass underneath which the water flows eternal. i am not trying to capture. i am trying to relate, to communicate. linger with me. she will come.