HANDS THAT MOVE

The hand that moves my wheel
Is not my hand but
The hand of a wise animal
Who breathes easily and never speaks.

I do not know him
But I know he's there
Know he is as he jerks the wheel
From my hands and I shudder
Into awareness
That we have just escaped
Head on collision.

I am determined
That some things will happen
Or not happen
Sometimes I think that I am in control
I am not.

The animal smiles
The tense unsatisfied smile
Of an accomplice
And quietly turns us
In a new direction.