Leaving, Late

Leaving, I got turned around
because I’d only been there
once before and the road was dark
and winding with no white line
to guide me,
only its edge, soft and sandy,
the tires sliding off
and grabbing back on,
and the thick smell of the ocean,
waves pushing forward,
pulling back,
somewhere off in the fog,
headlights forced to the side,
scrub and sharp grass,
flattened from the wind,
lighting up, then disappearing
as I passed.

I continued on,
hoping to come across
the right way by chance,
hoping things would turn out
to be that circle we’re promised,
and when the freeway entrance rose up,
bright and proud
and so sure of itself,
I remembered
turning a corner
and finding you.

Published in Bluff, -30-

Photo by Liz Furze on Unsplash