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.