Anatomy of a Crash

I’ll remember where the last ornament was placed.
What sweater you wore at the table.
The smile you chose that day.

Where you stood in that picture.
When you first grabbed my hand.
The look in your eyes when you first saw light.

And sometimes it’s nice to think
that some birds fly north for the winter,
and that one day you’ll find your way home,
but you won’t.

And for now I have to tiptoe the lane,
veer into oncoming traffic,
just to wait until the sun goes down,
and that sun may never set.