A train runs over me.
I feel sorry
for the engineer
who crouches down
and whispers in my ear
that he is innocent.
He wipes my forehead,
blows the ashes
from my lips.
My blood steams
in the evening air,
clouding his glasses.
He whispers in my ear
the details of his life—
he has a wife
and child he loves,
he’s always been
an engineer.
He talks
until the beam
from someone’s f…