In-transit
for Kulas

Again, one of our usual stops:
dinner at our favorite Thai restaurant
and coffee after.
You know so well how I like my evenings---full, quiet,
sometimes random, but always ending with a soft kiss.
You prod me to keep telling stories,
keep telling stories, while you drive:
A hint of excitement in the slits of my eyes,
my China eyes, you always say,
And I went on with made-up tales, fictions of memories
that you listen to like I was an oracle,
spewing out your fortune
from my mouth, and a smile, a nod from you.

Again, one of our usual bickerings
in the middle of my stories while you drive:
Take a left there,keep right.
You would just smile, your hand taking mine
While you change gears, and speak: love, of love--and smile
again.

You keep driving,
not watching out for street signs anymore,
and I carry on with my stories:
you in the driver's seat, I beside you---
a simplified plot, most common,
yet a discovery at every avenue's turn:
once my story ends, you tell me: here now, you are home.

10 September 2003
12:18 p.m.