single-lane sad stories

there were two lanes of empty highway heart-to-hearts.
she said, you have to have the blues to sing the blues.
i have never been so sad that my chords turn that minor,
but there's poetry in the rosy glow from beneath the window.
i keep it propped open, resting the pane on an old paint stick that
should have broke a long time ago under the weight of all her sadness.
but i like the promise of the cross-breeze, so i keep risking it.