The Kinetic Bliss*

The world is a blurred watercolor,
Edges softened by the first reaching light.
We are wrapped in a warm, jazz-infused haze,
Where the saxophone breathes
In time with the steady hum of the tires.

There is no destination, only the "now."
Catch the vibe of the open road—
A ribbon of silver asphalt
Unspooling beneath a dashboard’s golden glow.
The city is a ghost in the rearview,
And the horizon is a promise kept.

Lost in the rhythm of the transit,
The mind becomes light,
Empty of noise, full of the song.
Every mile is a velvet note,
Every tree a passing shadow of peace.

This is the life of the early hour:
Not arriving, but becoming.
A wandering soul in a rhythmic flow,
Finding the bliss
In the simple, beautiful act
Of going*