Loving our wayward daughter is riding the bus
through red lights at busy, unrhymed intersections
at ninety miles per hour and up, up, up
over a hill past broken-down Chevrolets,
veering into a dawn that unlocks the sun,
and past the wedding of automobile and deer,
of fist and face. Rubbernecking with reluctant eyes.  

Oh! acceleration the speed of love breaking
the sound barrier and all other barriers! Oh wife!
When listening to stars colliding, can you hear
the screaming and honking of the spheres?
Can you smell the way the rubber burns
as we speed, reckless, past rained-out ruins
speechless but for an alphabet of nerves?