Pulling In

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PULLING IN


Remember the turn that woke 

something in us to say we were 

almost home? Is this the same ache 


late October bears, the same, familiar door 

abandoned train-tracks whisper toward? 

And what about woodsmoke, mist 


over the cow pond, every elusive word

for every elusive thing? Is it all 

just pebbles on the one, gravel 


drive? I’ve been on this road 

long enough to know not to ask 

if we’re there yet, but no one can stop 


the signs from saying we're getting closer. 

And you, behind the wheel up there,  

face flickering in and out 


of our sleep-eye in the dim glow

of street lamps, your whispers veiled 

behind the grit of AM radio, 


just know that I’m half-awake 

in this half-light and can’t walk straight, 

so you’ll absolutely need to carry me in.

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