Driving with my wife
On those parts of the thruway,
Where sheer outcrops of rock, trees, and shadows,
Pure my innermost parts
Of all that is shallow and false,
I think of all these other things
We can only watch
As one night word after another,
Never comes:
The tender look of glistening sidewalks
Just after the rain, the sudden tremble
Of moonlit pools left behind by the ebbing tide,
That bright, glass -green blade of grass
Upon whose slender, unwavering length
A solitary ladybug is slowly climbing.
Trying not to fall, trying not to remember
Something that should have been forgotten.

Jerry Shonda