The body lies
face down,
back up,
in the wet dripping
gutter of the shadowed street.
Young man,
black,
black and red laced;
mother waiting,
waiting at home,
in the shadowy
midnight room,
waiting alone
for the return.
Car lights spot
the body cold
in the stillness of night,
spot the body
with a single wound,
and see the eyes
frozen in the night,
eyes accustomed
and unaccustomed to
the dark.
And the lights turn and
speed away,
speed away,
for nothing has been seen,
for nothing can be seen
in the black.
9/2/2017