The green light hums, An electric tree flickering in frost, Casting shadows on a face that forgot how to smile. A man, wrapped in wool and stillness, Stares through the cracked windshield, As if the road ahead might explain itself. The snow falls— Heavy as regret, silent as a prayer, Blanketing the echoes of where he’s been. And behind him, the night stretches long, Painted in shades of nowhere, While the neon tree glows, Bright enough to blind, But never to guide.