Driving Home From an Eclipse

Lucy is home from

China and we drank tea

that unfurled

like secret messages, talked

about entrepreneurship, roasted

garlic and then, huddled

in parkas, watched the

moon molded by

light until it seemed a

sphere hurtling happily

from outer space.

At 3:17 the moon turned

red to our firelight, just like the

stoplights on the drive home at 4,

telling no one to stop, no one

to go: no one but

me toying with ignoring

them, loving the driving where

roads wind black in your

rearview mirror. I don't need

him to drive around

late anymore, I

can do it myself with the music

a whisper and wonder that

anyone could ever be unhappy

when there are moons

to watch, frosty

fields, a perfect skeletal tree

under Orion's bright belt.

I journey round the curves of

the Bernardsville

mountain at a perfect

45 MPH, I kiss

my mother

goodnight, think

I am lucky and look at

the moon one more time, a

shadowed crescent, still

tangible.

CVP