The sound of wind but no
real wind, and me screwing
and unscrewing an aspirin bottle cap
for as long as it took us to hit
the border. Still going. Green bruises
on the horizon like a coming tornado.
Then, crabapples strewn over the gravel.
How I could feel them bursting
underneath but all I could hear
was gravel. How it wasn’t summer.
You stopped the dust-covered car
in the shade and slept while I searched
for the dog. I was thinking
that the right time to leave
is when you have seen far
enough into the future.
Once I read
If you love someone, let them
sleep. In a getaway, isn’t timing
everything? Dreaming, you said
Why are the apples so small?
When you woke you were sorry
you’d missed the whole day.
Never mind it was only
four o’clock. It took you
until night to ask about the dog.