We climb aboard a bus in London
And watch the high streets glittered with
Their lights and their shops turn
Into green rolling hills dotted with
Cloud puffed sheep looking up
At their reflections in the sky.
Your head bobs and rolls toward
The direction your sleeping body would have
Led us, and the vibrating glass window
Rumbles electricity into my pressed ear.
I feel that kind of decisionless peace.
The calm to be found in a loss of control.
Nothing to do but be, and watch the pictures spin by.
I glance back to see your now shining eyes blink
Toward the landscape change
And you hold out a delicate box of mints.
I drop one on my tongue
And imagine for a moment
I am out in the field with the horses
Lapping up that icy fallen moon glow.