I Look Back

You called out my name, or something like it, Driving through towns that only open for buses Names on the signs less familiar, fading slightly We made plans without reason, spun miles into stories (Rooted in moments the wind carries off) Sometimes you felt far, even holding my hand The road out the windshield wide and unplanned I look back, half for comfort, half to see if you’re real Where we waved to December before it backed out the door All our letters and half-lost belongings peeled into days (Sudden revelations, then the bright open sky) (Still carries your laughter for a while) Stories in the backseat, the worlds that we've seen The landscape reminds me who we tried to have been Songs from a mixtape you made when you were crashing That kept playing softly as you slept in the car (How did you look, were you calm just before you’d depart?) I never remember your middle name right It floats through my mind like small roads at night Forty miles down, leaving seasons behind Spread your memories thin, but they don’t ever lie Corners we rounded, some you stayed, some I ran (And it’s alright) It’s just part of the noise that an old pair of hands forget I look back, half in wanting, half to finish the lines Every thunderstorm spent guessing about destinations Turning small jokes to portals when silence grew wild (Say the nicknames, let the rest stay blank for a while) (Two found each other, then forgot how to smile) As the headlights dissolve all these names I can’t place We still linger in junctions I'm sure are all changed I sigh at your picture thrown up in my mind We're just bits of old sunlight gentled by time