1-30 The Distance Between Us

at 8:16 in the morning,
I am thinking,

about the way
the road curved,
blue in the evening light,
winding through the wintered
dark stands of fir,
splashes of snow, quilted,
blurry patches rushed by,
he drives

I am thinking,
about the distance between us,
and the not distance
five feet, ten years,
reflected in the windows,
steel blue into green,
we could be,

twins, but he is older,
his beard curls white,
grayer in the last few months,
I've noticed more than I remember,
it happens I suppose,
I'm not supposed to notice these things,
but, he feels, wild, abandoned, patches,
comfortable and uncomfortable,

in his age, and at the same time, I,
am not younger, not in this thought,
five feet, ten years,
reflected in the windows,
he could have been me,
ten years ago,
I have never
been here before,
but the road curves,
familiar, as if there had been
a we, once,

I look over at him.

the road curves between my words,
stands of pine and fir, separate,
we, are almost,

home.

at 8:34 in the morning,
I am still thinking about him,
the road curving, ten years,

down Echo summit,
past the Meyer's gas station,
a left turn on Tahoe Key's blvd,
and then,

my coffee mug is empty,
time to put my contacts in,
the day has already happened,
to him, he is mixing paints,
starting on a new room,
and I need to clean,

ten years, five feet,
the road curving,
stands of fir and sky,

between.