Exit

I am sitting in the back

of a fogged car, gray seats

and not enough leg room

behind a gas station, where rain falls
on the windows, on the roof, to our backs 

where a forest sits of

towering, overpowering, pitch black

trees with eyes that watch the night

as I am staring at your face

in reflection, water sliding down over your eyes

smoothly pressed and soft as an empty freeway, closed

to the mountains, impassible; we are late, it is cold,

ice is falling, and I am holding you.