Witnessing

Grateful for memories
that work like snapshots:

I don’t think I could handle
recalling the whole strange

scene–I only know he
is running across the street,

fast. It’s night, and maybe
the car isn’t driving

on the correct side of the road,
I don’t know, swerving. Rusted

car stops after it’s too late… You
always see those people

bounce right back: tennis ball
in kinetic movement… But reality

is so perfectly opposite of film.
He stays face-to-asphalt

until the figureheads take him
somewhere else. But they don’t

take the ghost with the crumpled
body, it’s haze lingers a while longer

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