And with the nighttime humming
the engine dispels subconscious thought twisting
vocal chords into braids forcing utterances
of jumbled phonetic sounds through the windpipe,
mouth, teeth into the winter atmosphere
above the hum.

The key between your fingers
the engine has been slain in the chilled darkness.
Now, even lung-function is audible or the insufficiency
thereof. Your torso begins to face me, pivot
as the car, left to decompose in the frosting grass, slips
away inside the territory of compressed
space between your thumb and pointer.

The noise is overwhelming in this steel frame: the breath.
the wheezing, creaking
of the engine as it falls to the temperature of the air.
And to escape it you slide the key back
into the slot, back
into its previous resting place, resurrecting
engine moves again, hums
again, drowns out the noise, heats.

Note: For T.

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