Watching You Drive

Grey skies weeping down
onto Avon backroads. 
I loved watching you drive
if I ever loved anything at all. 

I sketch recollections
of your light-bronze face
on first seeing city lights
on that long and tired 
autumn’s night. 

Your posture of a wolf
with black ice wrapped over
some highway exit 
some curb
we slid over
an hour away, in snowy
Rhode Island. 

Your precision,
a resemblance of
my own habit 
with every laser 
guidance of your eyes 
over yellow lines 

Your body was a pendulum 
on a planet
free of gravity 

A body that never 
held mine back  
during those sudden stops

where neither of us had control. 

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