Sharp stalactites of time
ache inside the knuckles,
in all my joints
And under the husk.
I possess just a few memories
that I've stretched in my mind
To meet the eternity of time
but they're never enough.
I'm in a car
heading somewhere
terribly oldfashioned
with dim yellow light
and don't know why.
I close my eyes
and feel the wheel
trembling in my hands
I am wind
between the furrows of the land,
the dust that sticks to the mantel
with that old picture of dad.
Sharp stalactites of time
coming out of the fingertips
and out the end of my tongue.
I'm in a car
And I don't know how to drive.