In a fall of bone letter confetti,
shin bone, ankle bone, someone’s
white Dodge pickup blinkering down
the mountain, on the windshield
needle-likes, double columns, pentameters,
Bentley’s iconographic crystals
playing into zero visibility.
I imagine collision as a theory.
Radio lowing storm twisting on.
Radiant shivers of deer by the roadside
and somewhere, a bead on, the trajectory’s
Triptych. Three bucks on the bier of a flatbed
I approach in the lane, kill limit. I name it.
This is one of two Online Exclusive poems by Joni Wallace. Click to read "Mesas and Particles."