Driving Poem

by plumsouls

Driving North with you in the music,

my arms in twilight remind me how you make

the world feel gentle around me.

. . .

I sing words that are not mine.

I sing words in cracked and shabby voice,

words that make me desperate for language to tell you

all the ways I learned to break my own heart.

. .

Sitting still, moving forward.

Dusk dyes a flock of sheep indigo.

. . .

Let me tell you things I recall to pass time,

(because you are everywhere now,

throbbing against me like gravity in this music)

such as,

I saw your thumbprint and mine

woven together on a small pane of blue glass,

hatched intricately,


like delicate grooves in a shell.