Drove all night, the six of us
free for the weekend
barely cresting Pacheco Pass at dusk
sailed down the interstate
taking turns at the wheel
south through the valley out into the desert
lay down to rest and
woke, sleeping bags inflated, the dawn wind
flinging grit in our faces—
danced both days past
exhaustion giddy with the music
and the company, the motion
and the potions, the chalice and the vial:
late Sunday driving back,
a glow on the horizon
brightened at our approach, a prison,
another new one,
fences topped with spirals of razor wire
craning on all sides
relentless illumination
a false day abolishing shadow,
nowhere to hide,
no room to move. We shrank back, huddled close
inside the van's narrow
darkness and hurried on.