Today began

like a poem,
sunrise,
on the road,
and
then
at
the volcano
no brakes–
5 hours later
as darkness falls,
no headlights,
the way my father
drove in WWII,
eyes peeled,
watching tail lights
of the second car.

On the mountain
above Antigua,
the water pump
goes out.
I take comfort
in the fact
that it won’t
make a difference
in a hundred
years.