I was just at the edge of a storm,
the air heavy, damp, and dark,
driving to Omaha to see my doctor,
when I came upon a paint truck
gray as a cloud, spraying a perfect line
along the edge of the road, so white
that it glowed as if lit from within,
as if the truck had filled its tanks
with light and was slowly releasing it
with a little hiss, or perhaps as if it were
opening a crack in the floor of the day
that I was destined to drop through.
I pulled out and around and sped on,
and ahead the road disappeared
into the darkness, just a part of the rain
then beginning to fall, and even though
I switched on my brights and leaned forward,
I could not see whatever might be there.