The Rush

An unexpected appointment,
a hurried rush,
squeezed into a fragment of a lunch hour.

You pick me up in the truck.
We exchange words, jumbling out without thought,
purging events of the morning.

In the haze of sound,
I feel the closeness of the cab walls,
caccooned next to you,
the two of us alone without our daughter,
the love of our lives,
for the first time in months.

And your words flow over me unheard--
so sorry my love--
because you have suddenly become brighter, luminescent,
and I marvel at the blueness of your eyes
and your olive skin burnished by the sun,
and I take your hand in mine.