The Promise

...and it's a long drive home,
and I often wonder if I'll get there.

I feel the weight of an unseen hand.
I hear a voice telling me to submit.

Submit to what? Some kind of lesson?
What lesson? Which lesson? And how many?

...this long drive home,
dodging this and that and sometimes failing
simply because I dared take time to blink.

I'm always pulling the fragments together,
this constant reconstruction,
this endless transformation,
into some kind of cracked form
that somehow stays mobile.

Perhaps it's a good work, waiting to be completed,
but right now I have nothing...

...nothing but the wheel in my hands
and the promise of home.