For Jason

I missed my turn again.
Maybe I’m lying to myself when I say,
“It’s alright. I know these roads.
I can get there from here.”

But a kiss has left me so distracted
That I’m pointing in all directions,
As Hyperion careens around Saturn
And a compass whirls at magnetic north.

Bewilderment doesn't come from the fact that the kiss was
Magnificent, passionate, invasive, an ablution,
But from its unanswerable reality.
Damn. I should have taken the freeway.

I can’t seem to remember what street I’m on, where to turn.
I've lived in this neighborhood for thirty years,
But one never steps in the same stream twice.
Tonight, all roads lead to Rome, and back to him.

I recognize that street, though. It's Oro Blanco.
I stare at the moon,
And it retreats, abashed, behind a cloud
leaving a silver lining.