Poem

As If for Ciara

As if I am going home to someone
on this cold, rain-soaked October
night, I drive hurriedly into the black
of the highway ahead, white
lines on the fogged road
like rails of a track. I count imaginary
ties, nurture the distance
and unseen enveloping my car
and its reflected headlights:
a nerve pulsing mirage and sudden
comfort and sanctuary as if
I am already
home, pulling the car into the garage
and the heavy rain on the windshield,
the ending of a daydream
or flashback, cleanses
as the wipers lift
and retract.