Raintracks and tail lights

Raintracks flow to wash away
careless thoughts on this drab day -
a passing route of hurried haste
douses sides with much distaste.
Sly cones stare up: "They're just like rods
from stairs, falling, skyscape's sods."
Compounded murky musings leer:
"Where are you really going here?"
Lost in thought and word and deed
all fog, miasma - mine indeed.
In distance all eyes fixed upon
where fast fading tail lights lead on:
blurred images too oft retained
of things pursued but not obtained.
SiKee 0709