La Quinta

Fog began the morning
The sun ate through the gloom like a single hole punch in a piece of card
No cartoon beams of light
Past the townhouse, straight to central station
The first time you were dropped off in your brother's car
I don't think it's luck that we stayed in touch

Pale pink petals touch the surface of the pool
And the curves of the contours remind me of your absence
My eyes are bleached
Strip lighting sparking on and off
Blinking lashes suspended above

The cab driver barely resembles his photograph
Beneath the plastic laminate and its curling edges
I wonder how else the years have marked him
This country, it goes on and on
Certainty comes, however fleeting
We spent one night in one room
Put one leg underneath the other
It'll fall asleep before you do
You loosen the band and your hair unfolds like flames.
You tie the ribbon to your wrist
So we stand and stare at the morning rush hour
In a balcony scene

We were there.
Where was the air?

We were there.
Where was the air?

At toll stations we tossed cents into a plastic catching funnel that looks like an upturned hockey mask