The 91

I did that thing again where
I hop on the 91 freeway at night
Because when I play my music swelling in
my ears and the wind across my face
calms my fears
I feel like everything all at once
and that anything can happen over and over.

You happened. The last time, in the car. In my
favorite stretch where the city reaches out and
grabs you by your fingertips and says
“hello” and winks at you from the windows of
thousands of lovers and families and people
saying goodnight, go to sleep.

Sleep, sleep – that’s where I have to go for this
to happen anymore.
I’m there, driving, wind in my eyes, heart in the skies –
I’m there, the road before me

I have no idea where you are.
I’m no longer close to your heart. I don’t get
to look over from the city lights stretching and
catch a glimpse of it smiling.

The possibilities weave before me, in and out –
I pass an In N’ Out. We ate there, once,
even then I didn’t know how I was feeling
but I’m feeling now if all these possibilities
weave before me
and you’re not there
why should I care?