Car already rolling, wife and I leave.
The local scene dissolves.
Piggly Wiggly fades away,
and day becomes bluer still
going south.
The Lost Highway is warmer,
humming,
Hank Williams Sr. singing.
We kiss at red lights.
Georgia is a blur.
Alabama cities
called Cantonment, Flomaton and Opelika
separate budding ghost towns
full of lightning-struck trees.
Then we see water.
Florida is full of youth.
Feet planted in the dunes,
she holds my pinky finger
while dolphins make children squeal,
looping in June.