Driving home tonight
through cataracts of gauzy air

that have curtained themselves
all the way to the ground,

the long ago returns
in soft focus—

driving an hour home on
narrow levee roads winding

through the dark
after lying in his arms for hours,

barely able to see beyond
my headlights

for more reasons than one.

How did I ever safely make it home
to the man waiting for me?

How reckless.
How besotted by

the fog of love overtaking
all good sense and reason.

How I didn’t question it then.
How perhaps I still shouldn’t.