After the Accident

That was the thing of it really
    when muscles cooled and
blood pumped a little
  less heavy the wind
still kicked up
                   the sun gave   
    & oh were there flowers
globemallow brash and precocious
    like the eager fickle
                               feet of time                                                                                                                  & evening primrose like
embarrassed penitents in the twilight
    with their velvet
                          yellow blush
    their scent the apology
       for the motor’s flush
          and heave, the inevitable
    capsizing of a life
        into cool waves.
And the red sandstone
    witnesses stand there
frozen sudden in a quiet rhythm
    as if to imply the fault
was somehow all yours.
    It could have been
       almost anywhere of course
    which makes it difficult   
       to recall the memories
the weight of them
                            still there:
his hair fresh as lilac
    or tufted rabbitbrush
in the bloom of August
    his hips
              the lake
a great expanse
    blank deceptive
water splashed
    between stark bluffs stashed
full and ominous with secrets.   
    A place like this harbors
such death.

G. J. Sanford is an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Nevada-Reno. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Potomac ReviewRiver Styx MagazineRust + MothAfter the Pause, and others. They currently reside in a tiny abode with their tiny feline muse, Finn.