Screeching into the Sun

Like tires bleeding

across the pavement,

you swerved in almost time,

time enough to almost miss.

 

Like his daughter

at the fair,

top of the Ferris wheel,

churning to a stop,

stopping only for a second.

 

Like her mother

turning at the sound,

thinking only about her daughter’s hand,

hand in her own hands.

 

Like him as he fell,

imagining the lights

of the city from above,

above everything laid out in little colors.

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