Here is where the steel
will buckle, here is where
the paint will lift.

Here, the half-closed
eyes of a lazy driver,
the thin red line

of his passenger’s lips,
pressed into silence
in the aftermath.

Here is the air, thick
as amber, the impact
now inevitable,

the last few seconds
fixing vectors in place,
lines bisecting lines

painted on asphalt
in cheery new yellow
that can only be trusted

as a guide to follow,
useless for keeping
others out.