Something, with being up ---
when cruising through the stars
at 30 miles per hour
above the lesser cars
glinting in carwash beads ---
is softening his folds of face
to equanimity, above me
a couple of feet, of grace.
If I could find the words.
If you, in the car behind
could ride the comet's tail
with wheel to wheel aligned
in lines of latitude.
If all the fates were ours
to view in constellation
when cruising through the stars.
Equanimity
