54/365: walking on water

the downpour on the highway
is partly recycled, kicked back up
by the tires of the cars in front of me
and the 18-wheeler clinging to my left
as if we were Siamese twins.

the mist skirts each of us
and it seems as if we hover, tireless, on grey spray -
our taillights like afterburners.

indeed we are barely touching the ground,
the water coming between us and the earth
is as close to walking on water
as mortals come.

there is no secret to walking on water:
if we could only walk fast enough
the surface tension would never break,
and we would not sink
into the dark waves
but glide along,
the lights of our afterburners like shooting stars
along the firmament.