Over the Sonoma Mountains

I park alone to watch the moon and wish that you were here. I put my arm around the seat and listen: I live in a dream: Over the insects mating in the fields I hear the freeway that could take me to you, but I don’t take it. I can’t get away from the city lights. I want it to be quieter. I watch the moon alone and want only one light,— and in every car that passes, there’re two.

6 August 1974