like his hair the night curling around us
receding from the question
he has outdriven
even sunset to get this far from home. here
it’s june. we hurtle deeper into the sierras.
all directions are deeper. we sink
toward the sky.
sawtoothed ridges gut the clouds
and make an odd jagged ribbon above
something here forgets itself, recovers.
i deserve to believe in something
when i say mother
for the first time since inconclusive. we’re
veering right past a minor lake that glimmers
when he answers and maybe has a name.
a shade can live in hades
which hardly has a name. it’s not your heart
i look back for, color or penumbra, half god
wandered off, the surface moonlight
Note: This poem was the winner of the 2019 Blood Orange Review Contest, as selected by Jericho Brown.