Every vehicle passes in urgently murmuring style.
Interchanging, they sweep on around between causeway and pyl-
on. And on, from the morning, from the time of the lightening dark.
If the vehicles rattle their darkness, their onwards, they spark-
le their turns through her sleep. Under glass that has frozen, she spins.
Even older, this cat in her sleep will still prick up her tins-
el-hued ears at each rattling sweep, of these hours and this mile.