This empty road interwines
with the ghostly landscape,
melting behind the fog
and the fields and the twilight.
The accelerator does nothing
to soothe your nerves.
There are miles of bare emptiness
in all directions
and you are all alone out here,
highbeams piercing the void
of oncoming darkness.
Then, over a rise,
the phantom moon appears,
low, but there, a buttermilk haze
floating through the trees
as the car coasts down
into cold valley mist.
The GPS has been silent
for countless miles,
and suddenly you think how
there is something lost and beautiful
and terrifying in that –
not missing the mystery
of where a road leads,
where a road ends.
Haunted Avenues 