the car crushed into that

                                           yellow pole in February

dislodging heaps of snow

                                                                       onto our caving hood

on the drive back we passed the exit &

       kept swinging

past anyway until the sky   darkened

                                                                        like watercolors

pooling into

         the palm of flora’s hand

a reminder my first love

was     not a person but moonlight

    how it slipped &     rushed through  my

fingers on drives home from

my father’s  manic

                                  decisions

when his voice raged

     into static & broke the barrier of sleep

i  woke

screwing fingers into eardrums

& pad onto my windowsill

feeling the rush of late-night awe

                                                    passing through skin,

holding me together like any good parent might