Wormhole

 Backseat passenger side three years ago,

night time sobbing as fast as I could towards others

also sobbing, and suddenly backseat driver side

three years later feeling the time travel vibes

of off-blue highway skies, day time quiet

in the all-enveloping cone of a child's needs,

how, indeed, did the wonders of my own biology 

manage to tesseract me into this deep peace 

so temporally far but cosmically close

to a winter evening's grief