Enough

We are off, driving 395 hard
enough to send the sun screaming toward the
buttes as sagebrush eyes and wicked neon blinds
us to the bones and rest-stop sleepers that
crowd like unburied bones.

None of us knew
we'd been had - not with enough pink above,
enough to see marrow shine through skin gone
translucent, enough left in the pit of
the pipe, and just enough gumption and zest
for the oncoming darkness to be not
like all that came before and all after.