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I ride an unmarked
track of silver sheen
My single headlamp flings its own light ahead
Plucking imperfections from the asphalt
Enlarging them in black relief
Against the bright road
Which sways easily, rising steadily
I feel a palpable cold
It spreads under my leather
Seeps through my denim
And my skin tightens
The engine fires rapid cadence
Hammering the cold air
I reach down
And let the engine warm my left hand
The moon still draws me on
The thin mist brightens in the beams of an oncoming car
I am trapped by their glare
And must force myself to watch the right edge of the road
At last I understand the hearts of moths
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