Leaving the Emergency Room, 2 AM

Lily Rose and I
drive along desolate suburban roads
yellow streetlights in the night mist
shine on us like God’s one good eye

We listen to the Dead, sing “Ripple”
glad, both she and I, to have left the emergency room
albeit with no real answers
and a bottle of strong pain killers

Pass the aquarium
pass the liquor stores, all night gas stations
pass the tracks
and we shiver
neither wish to return

“It’s going to be alright,”
I say and hope that she still trusts me
Lily Rose says that I still look good
and cries

Dante and Balzac
each knew a love like mine
unattainable
like an island in the setting sun
where faith is the wind
that fails to fill my sails
and take me home
home, towards
Le Lys dans la vallée