There was a lot of blue
at first. It was the Mediterranean,
stripping me down,
throwing me off balance.
Then leaning out of the window
I was able to see the Red Mountain
creeping into the Atlantic.
The sky fell in the beams
of the headlights into the mouths
of cliffs on all sides.
It was a year for meeting strangers.
And then all at once
I wouldn’t see them anymore.
I was old and drifting
crawling through caves
in search of origins.
Above the cliff, the road dipped,
halfway down there was the pine forest
with juniper, an enormous terrain in black.
Everything moved. A nighthawk
plunged headlong into the speeding car.
The car, an orbiting axis
tilted the earth, flooding the road
ahead, a bloody scene
in a hurry, devouring the remains