Engines cough in the dead of night, Headlights cutting through a wasteland too quiet, too clean. Red and white bleed together— Sirens that don’t scream, trucks that don’t move. You can hear it if you listen, That hum in the wires overhead, A low moan from nowhere Like the desert itself is holding its breath. The rearview mirror frames the chaos— A frozen parade of ghosts, Caught between running and waiting, Between truth and whatever comes next. Whoever they were, They’re long gone. And so are you.