For the Autistic Child

Rain and rain and green lawns.
Wrong time of year
for driving into clouds,
pushing down off mountains
of clarity and confusion.

Driving, I could drive forever—
drive forever—
boy-child’s turning body
before my thinking eyes—
steering his perfectly wrong course
flinging pencils
as though they were warriors
wheeling the perimeter
blueredyellow rug
country of dragons and pain—
his missed milestones—
time of year always flawed
always clouded
yet bright as the sun he sees
in a country I can’t.
He pivots forever
road disappearing again and again

And where drive I—
up green mountains,
down rainy dales,
inside confused and fog-filled sky?