Crossing the highway

I've dived into every ocean and fallen from every sky,

I've been to hundreds of continents, and wouldn't count the countries,

I scarred the face of the planet with a helix of dirty tracks.

I've even visited elves at their iridescent homeland.

There is one terra incognita, where the grass is greener,

But it lays on the other side of a mighty incessant highway.

I don't know who built it, and it's probably best this way.

My sight bypasses the windshields for fear of seeing the drivers.

I'm looking for a flyover, not the ultimate truth.

All i need is a tiny path across, however ethereal,

But the highway is wider than Styx and flimsier than Bifröst,

Its very existence claims: sometimes there is no solution.

And so i stand there, frozen, watch this jumble of headlights,

Blinding me, always shifting, like a crawling constellation,

Portending at once an infinite number of chilly fates.

Even a master of weaving his humble tottering beelines

Amidst the vectors of bikes on the crazy streets of Hanoi

Faces imminent death when trying to cross the highway...