May the flattened possum and the bloated deer
find rest in their roadside slumber, and may
the wilted coyote and the smeared rabbit
be at peace, knowing their paths will not cross
in the same forest. Of the bees, wasps, moths,
beetles, and mosquitos splattered in stained
constellations across my windshield, I beg
your forgiveness—my flight lacks the grace
of your wings, my aim possessing no clear call
to instinct. Above all, may the cat who filled
the whirling space, thin as a blink, between
my tire and the highway know the world stopped
when your weight took control of the wheel,
when I couldn’t find you in the nearby field, tears
blurring the edges of words—for every expired
wild soul—I’m sorry.