I am nearly the enabler of a deer’s suicide.
Glass eyes meet mine, mirror, her breath snared
in familiar agonizing hesitation. Leaves whirl. Tires
skid black drags, she slips back, smoke apparition. 

Airbags off, I am deadweight in a sea of tarmac.
I remember the ill turn, cast over the edge, the tug
towards headlights. Angels buoy me in nurse scrubs. 
When I drive, the roads end. There are always sirens.

/

Geese stare into the lake from their red kingdom
of suburban landscaping roses, waiting for an apocalyptic
grand nothing. Expansive and mystic, dark ripples beckon,
call to the apathetic. Deathless, the geese just turn to stone.

Center stage, cold silver water. I wade, floating head,
body dissolving like a salt block. I was nothing more
than a grain the wind. Now painless and quiet, queen
of detachment, even this far out, I fail to drown old sirens.