Like wolf eyes,
pairs of yellowish orbs
rush beneath a concrete overpass,
singularly devoted to the asphalt path.

Each passing halo
illuminates the wet mirror ground
and reflects celestial entities,
before the visions are splashed away.

The miniature sagas
of every passenger
create a mystical haze
between truths and imaginings.

A mirage is created,
like a drenched Times Square
and appears so pretty
to the wistful teenage driver.

She is satisfied,
reveling in the anonymity
found on a rainy night
at 45 mph.

And despite the racing colors,
nobody sees inside.
Her secrets and identity are obscured
behind tinted glass windows.