I can feel her, somewhere in the night
dreaming dusty dreams of home
dreaming quietly of me
without knowing who I am

I can feel her somewhere in the night
I can feel the humidity against her skin
trailer park dreams buried somewhere beneath the heavy new mask of an academic
I can see the faded white fridge hiding beer cans, and devilled eggs, and three day old pizza
I can feel the gravel and brown grass, stiff with summer and heat
I see the hot black nights lit up by buzzing neon and the blue stick of bug death
the one that hangs in the patio and sings dourly deep into the evening
Zap! Zap! Zap!
and notches its belt sadly with the body of just one more moth

I can taste the dust somewhere in the back of her mouth as the sun sets just one more time
and see the green Walmart hose coiled like a lazy snake at the edge of the un-watered and dying patch of lawn, as she takes the car to escape just one more time
on half a tank of gas and a dirty Eagle's tape she found when she was 15 somewhere outside of town

I can feel her drive all night to nowhere and wait for morning

And I imagine her and a southwestern sunrise
somewhere cold, dark, and flat, the sky lit up like heaven must be just before God arrives
sitting alone on the hood of the car that Kristy used to own
dented blue exterior and a white roof, one light broken and another that won't shine
waiting with the wind, watching for the sun to come up over the mountains and make the day hot again
waiting with the wind for the rough hands of a lover
the one that's lost in the desert and won't come home
waiting with the wind, and remembering the sticky grip of the upholstery as the sun beat down on two bodies
as their sweat mixed with the sand
and turned somehow into love

AcB 04.20.01