He’s got this one CD that always swells my heart till
I can only drive with the windows down
or else maybe the night will not feel it, too.
Maybe my heart needs my context to know its aches
so that some of the heavy is shared.
When I roll down my window at night, I look for a white orb
that cracks the dark.
I always found my power,
derived my religion
from the moon.
I wanted him to be the moon.