Poem

February 16, 2005

Dawn’s mouth. Hiss of breath

chip and tick of small birds.

Car horn seizes feathered breasts

clot in a free-flowing artery.

A loud pop. Horn stops.

Dove rubs newly

minted silence with a song.

Mind’s-eye-- man slumps

across the wheel

common as salt LA murder

Horn stops. A warble

of sirens convene,

final whoops and croaks outside.

Three soft chimes

meditation over rise

assess the street.

Police car sideways

blocks the road.

Fire engine

flashing lights, clattering diesel

knots of people

grave as execution witnesses.

Enter the balmy day

Firemen spraying charred

hulk of new SUV,

form blurred by steam

and smoke. “Spontaneous combustion”

someone says,

murmurs in Spanish.

The body is gutted.

No paint. No windows. No seats.

No interior. No wires, also no doorhandles.

The Ford, the fenced in

ragweed lot next door,

myself---all empty.