Rain takes the highway

Semi’s sail past
waving out the two half suns
on our windshield.
There is no highway ending in sky
only the wet low way
with side views of milk mud paths
wading to moated kingdoms
tied by knotted ropes of green
where fields used to be.

Our sea fans clear the seaview
And we car rock in our row
when a semi storms by.
Where is the highroad?
There’s only a water way,
too fluid for form.
We breathe easy only when we see
A lone hawk swimming sky,
but rain pawprints
our glass shield and we flow away again.