subtext

at eighty miles per hour I hear a line

and attempt to scrawl the words

across my notebook’s page 

on the seat next to me

while staying true between

the lane’s lines and the semi

wobbling one lane over:

how important is the muse’s gift

and one’s life?

            Write the line—

                        before you forget

                        before you die

                        before it’s gone

            trust what you hear

            is more important

            than what you know

the sibyl’s offering

            crumbles faster

            than one can read

leaves twist into the wind

like dancers into the wings