Lost in some forest north
of the city, the driver

returns the wedding
guests home, some

somewhat drunk, a song
rises up, hoarse, flamenco–

staccato clapping,
the rutted road,

headlights bathing
the night fog in gold.

There is no place to be
now, the wedding guests

are returning home,
with newly-softened gazes,

reminded again of love,
the road turning in on itself,

laughter, fake despair.
The wedding over,

the driver drives
the wedding guests

somewhere, anywhere,
it doesn’t matter.

Sad and joyful,
a song rises up–

it sings to me,
my love, I love