The warm Idaho night falls softly orange
on a lonely road that twists and flows with the mountains.
The woods begin to surround as the orange blackens.
A deer looks up
then leaps back into the forest.
I roll down my window and hear nothing
but the cold wind and then a roar from behind.
A biker goes ripping by.
I step on the gas
and follow him into Utah.
This poem first appeared in Abbey, June 1996.