Driving Depressed

He wants to nestle into a few words, and weep

          silently.  Driving he is tuned

to the undersides of pine boughs

          he sees the shadows within the forest floor.

The sleeping, cool shadows beneath bridges

          lie in friendly pools.  The green treetops

make discord with the sky which cringes

          faintly.  The sun screams faintly in

another house.  The words on signs and trucks

          pass him by with no meaning, like

the stones beside a path.  The people in

          their cars about are as separate from him

as stones, except their secret hearts which he

          cannot reach without weeping.