The city was sucked out the windows
like a coat
waving its leave of us
untangling its sleeves
of us.
We leaned down the mountain
as fast as possible
in a red car.

Alive at the bottom
was Nelson,
east of Hope;
in and out
of allegory,
left and right of it.

Nelson, you'd said. Nelson.
A destination; nothing more.

Everything pulled at us;
when passed,
everything leaned away,
angling,
a dangled after.
Our headlights shot ahead.

We caused a wind.
We were pulled.
There were lights,
a car, a red,
everything one way,
a lean, after,
an away.

We were aware of everything.