Each stranded tree is so solitary, so alone,
I long to join it, aim for its
But at that instant of decision, I remember
the corpse of some child’s beloved dog
or a wounded pedestrian, pale and blanketed on the sidewalk.
I remember my shock at exploding windshield,
my blood on the front seat,
my ceaseless trembling.
I am afraid of not dying, this time,
and beg myself to follow the gray stream north,
terrified of my own sabotage.
[© Barbara Burt; unpublished]