Backseat Island
The interstate lights become a beacon
rhythmic passings across your features
in my lap, supported
Your head framed in black
remembers Las Islas Cies
where Jeremiah and I ascended at night
the winding road to the highest light house
where in its beam seagulls
flashed into existence
You erupted as an island
from the ocean of the backseat
through my cradle to catch the light
and fall asleep
With the muted rush
our shell, the car, to our ears
Richmond approaches
I'm a ship in this shell
moving closer on the water between us
in danger of running aground
attracted by your light that calls
but warns as well
that was such a spectacular night hike.
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