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