The Taxi Driver Who Navigates Dreams

His cab’s meter runs on moonbeams,

fueled by the sighs of sleepers

tossing under thin sheets.

You hail him without meaning to—

just a midnight thought,

a *"God, I wish..."* half-finished

as your eyelids droop.

Then leather seats smell of your childhood home,

the radio plays that song you’ve forgotten,

and the potholes feel like destiny

bumping you toward something

your waking self wouldn’t dare approach.

**Passenger #1:**

A woman clutching a suitcase of fireflies.

*"To the bridge where he proposed,"* she whispers.

But when they arrive, the bridge is gone—

only two stone pillars remain,

kneeling in the river like unfinished prayers.

**Passenger #2:**

A boy with a skateboard and no shadow.

*"Anywhere but here."*

The cab plunges through a movie screen,

emerges in a desert where his father

is still alive, squinting at the sun.

At dawn, the driver leans on his horn—

**"Last stop, dreamers!"**

You’re dumped back into your body

with the unshakable sense

you’ve been given directions

but lost the map.