For Nicholai

As the sun buried its face in the haze
And the autumn sky turned ash-gray
Mom shushed me from awkward angles
And I crumpled like a discarded tissue
To the cold grit on the burned tar
Tail lights blinked red as funeral eyes
His worn halter empty but warm
Two carrots still in my pocket
An unfamiliar whinny called out
And I choked on the metal of my tears