On Highway 24

A white dog runs across the lanes.
Dull sound of the hit.

We stop. It is gone. No body.
No carcass. No sign of it.

All day I gather miracles—
purple scent of garden sage,

steep leaning trees, unfolding clouds,
a spring in the center of a city street.

All day I replay the thud. The screech.
I repent. I would change things if I could.

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