Cars don't belong in the ocean. They belong on multi-lane highways going sixty-five miles per hour in their own cloud of fossil fuel exhaust. They're meant to bring x, y, and z from point A to point B, not sit idle beneath a mile-high sky.
But there it was. A lone vessel in a sea of golden prairie. Rusted and carnival-candy blue. Vacant but not empty, abandoned but not lonely. Infiltrated by grasses, it had changed to fit the setting. There it was.
We'd take nothing but us
with no need to fuss
about all other things
that don't really matter
'cause all that matters,
my little gray mouse,
is me and you
and our wooden house
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