The Restless Age

My window-floodgates admit
this spring night's
tide of sound:
a jet climbing, passing cars
train's deep rumble and whistle

behind it all, the indistinct
dull roar of the distant freeway
crowd-cheer of rubber
on roadway
that continuous flow

we're a restless beast
that won't bed down for the night
no sunless slowing
closing of our petals
only endless movement
arrival forever deferred