NO THIRST BUT THIS
The moon is a smudge
on the cloudless afternoon
and I am driving home to you.
I am driving home
to you and singing
a song that is no
song
but a listening.
The farmers in the field cut
the dry corn and the dust
rises around their wheels
so big and so
black.
And I am clean.
I have no thirst
but this.
I am driving.
I am driving home to
you.