The bus eats the miles as it goes;
The cities taste of burnt oatmeal and it pauses only momentarily
to spit out the specks caught in its teeth.
The life of a speck is short and violent.
They sit in silence, waiting for their time to be
propelled into the cold world. Wherever they end up,
a trail of half-whispered promises follows in their wake.
Exhaust from the bus muddles this trail,
and they cannot find their way home.