Wild Atlantic Way

By Maddy Kinkead

As tiny coastal towns fly past the window, 
Briny stars dance on waves, 
A blur of turquoise and white in the wing mirror, 
Nothing compared to the blue of you.

The car engine hums as we put miles of road behind us, 
A slow melodious hum, 
Precious us, fragile us, sacred us. 
Evergreen forests loom over the dashboard, 
A choir of hushed giants,
Their pine needles tremble in the rain. 

The sun lowers over the mountains, 
Its amber halo transforms their precipices into altars, 
Illuminating tiny churches like freckles on grassy cheeks. 
Houses of gods whose names I no longer remember. 


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