Leavin
Julia
Klatt Singer
You
tell me you need more
than
two highways, more than one tank of gas
to
take you where you want to go.
Need
the red of neon reflected off the hip
of
a black sedan, need a hundred miles of rain
to
wash the dust from your mouth. Need the warmth
of
bar light, need her legs, bare, the brush
of
her tangled hair. Need clouds
to
cover the moon, need the street to glisten,
as
you ride it out, pilfering sweetness
from this and every kind of emptiness.
written
to Mark Stockert's Church's Ferry