the Path

Doesn't it happen
in the sparkle of night lights,
thoughts coast under the headlamp
like fireflies, swamp dense;
when a dog loses its way,
quickly finding another day,
does it limp along the sidewalk,
like a child learning to crawl?

Trees coast back and forth
along a winding highway
of tumultuous bumps and guards,
who steer the path straight
and steady, unlike the skies
changing hue;
it's the fools who tell the miser's
story they were told to act out.