by the flashing blue lights of the police.
They wave, the officers,
an unnecessary, well-meaning gesture
to show me the way.
They turn both their torches downwards
towards the floor,
and look down, their heads bent
as if in prayer.
She lies there, a mass of displaced,
a mangled, tangled mess,
arms and legs scarred,
She stares, in silence, directly upwards,
past the darkened street lights,
past the trees,
past the broken, open window,
past the clouds.
The sky responds, sheds tears of its own,
and washes away the blood, the hurt,