Don’t go. The air will be soft with poison still. You don’t know where the water is coming from. The dust that lines window sills may glow With unspent energies. Ashes before death. Don’t go. But we drive his big white Galaxy Through the middle of Pennsylvania, finding And losing the Susquehanna over and over. His charm pulling my molecules apart. My arm Out the window, fingers splayed to taste the air. Don’t worry. We will never get close enough To be damaged. In the shadow of silos, sheep Grazing on tender fields, wet earth turned fresh To the Sun, the steam rising. I feel the sweet Mutations of spring all around me. I almost dare To take his sharp face in my hands. Don’t worry. We will never get close enough to be damaged.