I had to drive northwest to prove the world's round,
I had to improvise rite of passage
in the wetness of the Sound.
Where reverberation brought each wave up to a crest
and thrashed the coast in faster time
than the rising of my chest.
On the sloping hills of richness, a path outside my reach,
I was a foreigner to the families
burning fires along the beach.
But her warmness was solace while I was lost
to the openness of the interstates,
to the future and its cost.
