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