We've been drifting for hours
with the windows down
smelling the rain fat pine.
You are breathtaking, darling.
How do you put up with my cowlicks?
My drinking?
My sense of urgency to do nothing?
These and all answers are measured in gasps.
I grip the wheel and the god of common sense
-my warden-
kicks the seat, reminding me of some silent promise,
some absolution of
fallout.
The fog lights come on between those secret
mountain breasts and our two lane valley
hums to life.
Old Blasphemies play on the radio,
our song,
but I've lost you to the window.
On a clearer day, you could see the blasting scars,
and if you'd just look me in the eye
Oh, how my bags would rat me out!
Dream stole me up last night where I watched you
lose your hair from the drip.
Like your mother.
Making me run to those twin desert rivers and
drown
drown
drown
in the watershed.
I will find a place to rest a while,
so that you might drive.
Leaving me to that window,
the fog,
and the places beyond.
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