On this journey with you to Nebraska – the mini red barns, idle grazing cows,

healthy horses that we race by in sports mode

the sun sets ahead of us somewhere unknown in the west with two planes heading

towards each other while we listen to LP’s The One That You Love

my heart sinks in rest and trust that you control the wheel with your ashy hands

as much as our dearest father in heaven controls you

we dip one of both our hands together into the big bag of plantain chips

and I trade foreign languages with you like tu vas à la banane

knowing fully well you are a long mile far from understanding love languages

I watch your laughter line, before my motion sickness takes over

then I close my eyes to croon a folk tune as the end of summer dawns on my finger tips

just as the night meets us half miles away from our destination

before my mind slips away, I listen to your bad pitched singing to a song that seems

formulated by you, while the stars follow us into what I think may be our last …