And I drive to you
I drive my dreams this autumn night,
through potholes,
past the roadkill and the hydrants,
the washed-out poems of a dying day.
I drive my dreams this quiet night,
by the light of Dylan Thomas
and the sound of stars -
and I drive to you.
I drive to you:
I die and breathe and die again for you.
Another record and another glimpse
of the yellow, pock-faced moon
and I drive to you:
through falling clouds and petal rain,
the voices of a naked bed,
the mounted colours of your flesh and bones.
I drive to you.