Fourteen November

Miguel is driving.
I'm a quiet child; I sleep through rain.
The moment has soft pores,
A perfect Saturday to ride.

My dream, my mother's house,
The deeper sleep one is allowed
Within the comfort
Of implied protection,

I sleep my mood, my home,
Miguel controls the windscreen;
Wipers stretching back and forth.
Mother blessed the place

She left us, miles ago.
My home, her heart still there.
Long rainbows form her young face,
As the mist becomes my sleep.