driver

If it's the dead of night
and everyone reasonable is asleep

i'm probably driving

one hand on the wheel and the other spinning spirals into my hair

the sleeves are probably pulled over my knuckles until the car heats up
and someone lonelier than i is probably singing into the small confines of the car from the cd player that keeps my wandering thoughts at bay


the moon will blaze a luminescent shape that isn't quite a circle into the corner of my eye
brilliant with some strange wisdom of ages that have come and gone underneath the dark beauty above


and on this drive, i will probably think to myself how unlike the moon i am
"not I, not I," I will think and not say

but,
like the moon,
i will be satisfied to be a circle
not yet whole