ghost song on the highway

the wound
runs for miles
you only see it
at night when
your headlights
catch it
at exactly
the right angle

(in daylight
the too bright
sun
flattens
the contrasts
to render it
invisible)

a truck
inflicted
the wound
when a tire
blew out
at top speed
and the steel wheel rims
gouged the highway
until the driver
could safely
pull over

when you align
your tire
perfectly
with the wound
you hear
the ghost song
a soft change
in the highway noise
as incorporeal voices  
inaccurately echo
metal grinding on concrete

all ghosts
are like that
imprecise
evocations
of events
long past
of wounds
and pains
only dimly heard
and never fully
understood

© Buzz Dixon