Chevreuil

Sudden smoke in the elbow of the road

clouds the pencilled sketch of a dawn.

Shadows, holding the places of trees,

as we stutter, slow, on the headlamps’ rails –

strain to keep their outlines steady.

This crossing, broken free of its sign;

this ghost caravan, evaporating.

Light lifts the eyelid of the sky.

All day, we will tell of what we saw.