Light Years

Light is always years away,
so when it’s here, it’s not.
Like you.
When we’re driving
120 kilometres an hour
on Highway 60 through
Algonquin Park, your face
in the window’s reflection looks
back at me while outside
it flips across surfaces of lakes
and tamaracks, and, unhurt,
between the horns of a moose.

One thought on “Light Years

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