Behold The Mystery

When my mother took us to the lake
my eight year old cheek pressed the half down window.
Hair flew up like the cresting of a wave,
and I looked out, and then down.

And gravel lies next to the road.

The trees promenade the father out I gazed.
A slow illusion it was that I couldn’t comprehend.

Even now I will take mystery over comprehension.
I still marvel when the moon follows me home.

And gravel lies next to the road.

Over the edge of the window the asphalt
zipped by and appeared fluid like shallow river water.
The Buick was moving so fast
except when I looked out on the horizon.

And gravel lies next to the road.

Time rides like a Buick, rocking gently.
The slow turning in the distance
almost wrapping around itself.
Then I look down at the black gray blur.

And gravel lies next to the road.

Emily Woke Me. The moon and stars were still awake.

Emily woke me at 1:12.

She walked the line

from her bed to mine

and I tucked her one more time.

 

At 1:17 I saw the moon

in the western sky

a sweet potato pie.

Once slice, low upon a rhyme.

 

A dipper as big as forever

over my head like a caption.

Stars were a splashin’

into my soul and onto the pines.

 

1:34 was when I lay me down again.

Goodnight moon was all I said.

I prayed twinkled stars on her head.

So thankful for how she shines.