Thursday, January 16, 2014

1-14 His Hands On The Wheel

in the car,
on the way home,
I looked out the window,
and saw him,
looking back at me,
while he drove,
away from,
the trees stretching into the sky,
branches spider-webbing across
the windshield, cracks forming
in the gray fog,
what did we talk about then?

I forget.

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