Driving

I like to drive beside you:
My hands steering,
Your hands knitting,
Both of us facing the road
That unfolds like the map
Of our conversation —
Golden skies of Tuscany dome over
A twisiting mountain road that overhangs
A valley deeper than the heavens;
Snow-topped Rockies shoulder cloud traceries
Only gods in their chariots used to travel;
Indigo Carribbean laps below the Mayan ruin
Rising above that startling white beach;
Hilarious melodrama to shared tragedy —
Who else is as happy at the end of a day
As I, pulling into our driveway with you.