Rain pulls me from sleep
like a woman hauling buckets

from a wishing well, leaving the water
restless and unsettled.

Outside, a single car on the wet night street.
The driver could have been my brother,

who liked to drive long distances
in darkness. I think

I could have made him happy.

Under the bedclothes, echo of a radio, dim
dashboard lights, empty road ahead.

The center strip points like a finger — this way —
miles adding up, like sheep, counting down

to almost nothing.