We’re driving in the dark
to the hospital.  The road
eerie quiet, street lights

shine on wet pavement, only
the slish of the tires breaks
the silence.

A fleeting thought–
this has nothing to do with me.
This is not my journey.

She says I don’t want
to do this test.  I wait for more,
then say I don’t blame you.

I know my mind is trying
to distance, numb the trauma
of our joint ordeal.  Reaching

deep within, I feel around
as though searching a large
cardboard bos.  I’m looking

for something solid.  I slide
My hand from one corner
to the other–

nothing but empty space.