My view is the red blink glare
of brakelights, my foot a constant
shadow over the black pedal.
We inch toward the yawning
rectangle, burst through
gulping the scene into gray-mist lungs:
silver lake smooth like melted metal;
whisper-veined clouds painted in the horizon;
ethereal pink pushing at snow-capped peaks;
and Rainer, like a sentry, guarding as we cross.