cvii.

when the winter came, some froze
and they fell

of those who fell, some crawled
forward, and some

were still, and silent--streaming elsewhere

the crack of bone on asphalt is
a thud, when someone

hits the ground,

the shatter, and falling
shards that fade into
the dust

and scrub

or the gutter,

of the shrapnel and scrap metal
some is salvageable

and some is not--the storm rolls
in over the cliffs,
waves cracking on the shore

stars bright in the inky night
trees snapping,

blows the plaza over the edge
--lost to the sky

over the valley, palms cracking

the snow comes in over the mountains
a gray wave rolling, cold

wind, ice on the road,

of those that crawled, some went
shambling, gathering scrap

through the burning summer,
the haze and rain of fall--

grinding, sometimes, or weaving
               and stumbling,

standing,

until the engine grinds, and rolls
over, somehow the piecemeal
chasis holds,

the freeway way thunders, close
but muted

as the clouds come down, the frame
shudders but holds,

shaking and shifting, it rises
along the
asphalt, the peaks crack

and the sky breaks, the wind
howls under the tires, or
the sky does,

kneel, briefly, to check the chains
for traction

scrap and sheet, pieced and gathered
shaking, rumbling, is sound
runs grinding,

at elevation, running clear
and at speed,
in the winter, though a storm