The Ride Back

The Ride Back

“The ride back is never
as torturous as
the ride up” you say,
as I watch the frightening color
of the twilight sky
reflected on the chrome.
Through your grace
or a small realization,
I’m finally interested in something
I know nothing about.

Seconds, minutes, hours--
time! I need it,
the grinding of the hands
as old and purposeful
as churning butter.
I don’t need more or less,
I just need it--
not to see inside the watch
but to see inside time
like seeing inside the wind.

I now know
the word for “love”
is “empty”
and I whisper
to myself
while the dark blue car
speeds on.

©JEF 1989