The moon kept us company all night 
riding the dark stallion of sky
while we drove toward the mountains
in search of a new home.
“Got to get away from the greed," you say.
“The pushing masses hungry for things
their money won’t buy.”  I nod.
“Grabbing, rushing, panicking. Useless!”
You stop talking then, the noise of your own voice
too much, concentrate on the single lane country road,
focusing the way we must on what we want.
Suddenly some small white animal streaks out of the darkness
headed for the oncoming lights of our car: a road kill suicide.
You swerve, scarcely avoiding the death-seeking missile.
Breathless when the car slams to a stop
I whisper, “Can’t run away from everything.”
You nod, somewhere between laughter and tears,
renew our ascent.