It never occurred to me that I would see
the end of us come so suddenly:
a tornado roaring down the highway past
101 and Grand would be the final brand.
What fate played a hand in that phantom
presence, planted there, etching in your name?
Destiny could have chosen another soul,
unsteady, unworthy for the road ahead.
Instead, in a moment of dazed scotomata,
your gaze flew to the right. “No, ” I whimpered,
as I watched the wheels skid out of sight -
as I still do each and every night.
Sunday, February 25, 2007