Trapped in the Sun

Then you'll remember your life
as a book of candles,
each page read by its own burning.
-lee

The tendency to freeze: time aside, forgotten,
but still marching, beyond the wind,
redolent of then: some time that did stop;
or maybe it only stops now.

The tires screech, burn towards the drooping red sun.
Pulsing bass, pulsing beat,
screeching laugh with a steely stare, frozen movement.
I see it, head nodding.
I take it in, red sun blinding.

I write: does the wind taste like death?
I read: life is in the rhythm, between the beats.