Driving Home

Dawn Potter

In the mirror, a hitchhiking Hasid

raises a hand, coat flying in the breeze.

Behind him the green-hazed hills

fold one upon another.

Everything is a poem.

Full as a cup,

delicate as a peeled egg,

I write my love on air,

on sunlight stealing through a murky

window, on a traveler’s windswept beard.

The distance between us narrows like a wish.

At sunset, you will step into my kitchen,

your eyes singing, “I love you.”

I am driving home to you so fast.

[from Boy Land & Other Poems (Deerbrook Editions, 2004)]