Synthetic smoke carried up
over a concrete river,
walking on the bridge overhead,
recalling the taste of speed.
Passing boats in passing lanes
sending waves outward
on an artificial wind, acceleration
a consequence of sinking stones.
Memories of you, sailsick to windows
whizzing by, green seas of
meridian grass and large plastic
gas station cups among the weeds.
Jumping here means no splashing water,
no cool relief from hot blacktop feet.
Just passing cars, just passing news,
still a single ripple lost in waves.