Daybreak Over I-15

by C.W. Blackwell

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Remember that night 

under the Mojave moon;

the green sage and ocotillo

twisted in a starry bramble;

the dead phones in our pockets; 

and the stolen tank of minimart gas.

Remember those unclocked hours,

how we spun nude on the rock road,

far from the cops and cameras

and judges and jailers.

Remember the sun-bleached Honda,

reeking of dope and sex and motor oil

as we lay dreaming in the backseat.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Remember that perfect night,

as day breaks over I-15,

take-down lights popping in the rearview.

Breathe, even though Shauna does not breathe,

even as the mesas ring with gunfire

and the shattered car windows howl

and blood lacquers the dash 

and men drag road spikes 

over the cracked and steaming asphalt.

Breathe.

Just breathe.