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And the World Sleeps in Passing Cars



We set to filming in the tall grass
beyond the wall of junipers
and the highway pylon.
She loosened her hair
and collected wild seeds
and I pushed the lens through the whole of it,
soaking it,
fathoms deep.
I kept quiet while the shutter clicked,
an hourglass between us.
Because of all these twining questions,
these blades and simple fingers,
negotiations of strange hemispheres,
I thought of the way I thought
she loved me.
There was dew still
from the morning,
and behind us the traffic
announced the distance.
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Submitted on May 01, 2011

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