A dot of blood where the sun should be. “I’ve nothing to
say about it,” my heart said. Trees in full leaf haunted
the highway for miles, millions of dimly veined hands
reaching out as if begging forgiveness, or offering it –
but, of course, I’ve made mistaken inferences from vague
gestures before. At the border the guard told me to pop
the trunk. My heart rattled like a plastic bottle of
small, white pills. It was then the evening returned with
two guns and started shooting.