You drive me to the airport once again,
through the unkind dark before dawn we
both know too well.
This time, there is no wolf in the mood
for a passing salute. Your worn blue
running shoes hitch a ride, back seat.
In case you did not know:
I am learning from you that love lives
in the quiet between soccer podcasts
and NPR broadcasts.
I am learning that love lives
in the rumbling gaps between
highway mile markers,
in the spaces where our rough fingers
come together again and again
to make things right when words are
wrong, when no words will do.