After the crash, everything that shattered
and hissed can be replaced. The smell
of gasoline has dissipated. The blood
on the upholstery scrubbed clean.
The dents throughout the body
pulled out, buffed and painted.
Of course the dream won’t dissipate.
But that’s okay.
It’s expected—the haunting.
Now the closer truth—the new radiator
and windows are cheap used ones, the nose
burns when entered and the seats
are covered in faded droplets.
And the body, the body is forever now
vulnerable, the structure weak
from the memory of filled space—
the collision, so violent and total.
The impact becomes what is missed.