Fractured

From out of a clear blue sky,

a spate of pain

and cloudbursts of sirens

flood a steamy candy apple

intersection.

So then, every bite of steak is like a morsel of ancient sunlight.

Was it

really

red?

There,

suspended,

then flying out of view

as fast as a hummingbird's wings

fluttering in a hot summer wind.

As my body reanimated

from what felt like possession,

afterimages materialized

behind closed eyes

like dropped frames of a silent reel.

And I wonder still,

was anything ever real?

Parsing the phantom

of our collision,

there is solace in survival.

But inside

the plush red interior,

our crimson cradle,

something

remains

beyond repair,

forever fixed

in broken hearts.

There are no airbags for the soul.