I like running on cars, neatly filed.
Like running in the sky it is,
Every windshield, a gateway to where else,
Slippery clean, ankle for to break,
As I leap from car to car.
In traffic such amusement...Much a movement? Much movement!
Seriously studying the streaking white lines, not for to sniff,
But rather defining the ground,
The ways forward as I bound,
Forward as I away.