Route 231

He was once her worm-
hole to life below tulips
the cool moist mud
clarity of black-

her portal to fresh jams
tea-biscuits and summer
blankets spread on grass
next to a hill of ants

antennae brandished
to overtake what was left
of their green transparent light.
That's when she ran, floored it

rare in her yellow 1983 Porsche
top down toward Route 231-
thoughts of Indiana growing
ever smaller.