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A waning gibbous moon
A fog-heavy road
The diffuse midnight lights
of quiet travelers passing
A ghost in the passenger seat
The driver spills tears
the way the dead take up space
with their translucent absence
If they shared a seat,
could they feel each other again?
“I miss you,” the driver says
Ghosts make the best listeners
So the driver pours wishes and secrets
the way sisters offer tea
The pot tips until the cup is dry
“I miss you,” the driver repeats
The song ends, the fog lifts
The passenger seat empties once more
The driver sniffs and greets the
waning gibbous moon
the way old friends say hello
on midnight roads