Black’ed-silk roads glistens night moon;

She drives late bearing home;

Calls: “Be soon, wait up,” says she;

“Never thought different,” says he indifferently.

Slippery dust sprinkles her dozing head;

Bobbing chin hits chest, eyes drift lazily;

Hour grows late, bed distant;

Car sways lullaby of rancid fatigue.

TV glaring the show’s laughter;

His freedom riding on peace of moment;

Air buzzing silence over empty home;

No rain finds the drying couch.

Swallowing, smiling, and shaking past;

More cheery occasions to find himself;

Nose itches and something not right;

Time gone away, no creak of door.

“Should be home hours past,” says he;

Phone dials and beeps and rings and rings;

“Signals fly and tunnels break,” prays he;

Chest sinks, galloping heart peculiar taste.

Ventures out soaked in darkness glow;

Empty roads and pitter-patter night;

“Come home, come home,” yells he;

Tears of clouds answer nobody.

Dialing and beeping and ringing and ringing;

And dialing and beeping and ringing and ringing;

And dialing and beeping and ringing and ringing;

And dialing and beeping and ringing and ringing.

Silence answers as sun arises;

“Needn’t want a day alone,” screams he;

Rings and rings and now scared to answer;

Not her, not her, who will it be?

“Found she over cracked tree,

“Roads slipped and head dipped;

“Smashed ride and broken side;

“Not what you want to see,“ says not she.

Pumping legs and tortured valves;

“Alright shall be, strong lady,” cries he;

Arrives at sides of bed and cracked form;

“Sleep she fell while driving,” hears he.

Sinking to knee, holding bloody she;

Never knew she was until past night;

“Not right, give back, thief,” cries he;

She breathes, eyes drowning beeps and fights.

Weeks he goes to visit she;

Nights pass thinking of phone’s late call;

“If only I’d dialed and beeped,

“If only I’d rang and rang,” says he.

Never wakes and she falls away;

Flowers drift toward final rest;

He and she and she and he stay;

Too late for he ringing and he forgiving.