
Subaruminant
The bison in Montana judged us
like well-upholstered X-ray machines. We left
them behind. Over Michigan the sky
finally adjusted its glasses. Céline held visage
for three whole toll booth measures. Industrial
sci-fi rain and your wrist fixing
the rear-view mirror with my face in it.
Some other things we left behind: my beard
in a little gold sink in Chicago. Your nana
cracking a Coors Light by a green lake. Ohio.
Olivia and her broken clavicle. Her minimum-wage
job setting off avalanches at dawn
so tourists can ski safely down with mirrored
orange worlds strapped to their faces. An American
one-dollar bill I used as a band-aid.
Your mother. A plant of basil. The nervous
tic where I only blink the eye farthest from you.
Other things of course but now you are asleep.
Your face against a pillow shaped
like a nuclear mushroom. Your headlamp
still lit on your forehead. A book in your lap
about blackholes or blackberries. I can’t see.
Pittsburgh darkening ahead and invisible foxes.
Wake up. Wake up. I can’t believe your eyes.