And Flashlights in the Eyes

The heat of the sun poured through

The passenger side windowpane

In an element of grief of pain

The intersection green light blinding

Through broken glass that sliced

Into the meat of his forearm broken

Poured through his body shook him

Like an unexpected side impact

Like pulsing red lights and sirens

When it Moves

Fresh pine in full spring.

Tender branches straight up

As if pulled by unseen hands.

Hidden black and green parallel lines.

Circumcision. Prayer times. Day.

Seen in blinks the new green

Frogs. Mice. Rats. And snakes.

Existence out of jacket pockets.

Copies of playboys

That don’t exist in nature.

Finding the black and green of life

You only pick out when it moves.