Driving Home
7:46 pm you’re fast on the highway.
Tires spraying light because
you imagine them as exploding stars.
Milton Nascimento blasts on the radio.
He declares something
about friendship as love
as sea as life. You’re inside
it yet feel outside always.
The moon’s orange is strange
above the king pines.
You ate an orange
for lunch thought of Spain.
That street in Granada
where you spoke Arabic where
you recalled peace.
Found In Volume 55, No. 06
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