Normally I admire a crow. I admire the crow, the color of the sky And the shape of the asphalt That offers a way down and away. I find you at rest Arresting my attention, So that the vertical bike between my legs Is dropped as soon as I can stop. Yours and you are joined at your foot Where you lie head slightly down hill in the dust Your legs and arms apart As if frozen in the act of making snow angels. I do not understand the swerve Or the avoided stop that caused the swerve But I see a body caught as with a flash, Your only movement is your leaking. Your eyes are silence, Your mind curving free and wild and alive, Floating in the color with the crow.