On autumn wind, leaving only evergreens,
I tear my gaze from the sun and
Move under shelter for winter.
I tack up my favorite flotsam,
Hold the chill at bay. In my box,
I make way relentlessly toward
Some sort of renewal.
Like a desert tortoise
I make way toward the other side.
It lies across the road. I can be
There by spring if no trucks come.
One might. I've heard they run all night.