Accident

“The sky’s so bright because

of the fog.  It causes

the lamplight to scatter in the mist,” he said.

And I’ve tasted of night’s bitter nectar

The edge of light surrounds a black, endless midnight

And I’ve come back.

There’s no mist at this iron door

A beam of gold burns through.

When I took that last breath

And the car almost thrown

Through the trunk of

An unsuspecting oak tree

I remembered those last words you spoke:

“Don’t use your highbeams in fog.”