I, along with one of Karin's friends, think this is at least one of (if not the best) she's ever done. And she's damn good.
It's white like those movies of heaven,
surrounded completely in fluff.
And I am alone,
saw some headlights awhile back,
73 miles ago.
And the last time I saw you
I was drunk off your eyes
as we talked until I
forgot I was gone.
But that was 500 miles ago.
And sometimes I just
want to say that I love you
and sometimes I just want to leave--
and I can't write you a love poem
the way I'd want one written for me
But I can sing you highway songs
and scribble down memories.
And tis' serenity and
all my dreams tangled up
in one here
and then it's captured by the fog
and I wonder if I'm real.
And snow hits on my headlights
and I stare through the sunroof
at the sky
instead of at the road
and think of how
maybe I loved you...
500 miles ago.
C. 2000, Karin Kapphahn
