You can call me
a jaywalker if you like
but I must get to the other side
of your road
that divides our woods

When your overspeed rams
into my underestimate
you passionately kiss my bones
with your bumper
and I, in return, wash
your windshield
with my blood

Then you step on your gas
and are gone
while I gather all my might
for a final leap, trying in vain
to admire
for the last time, the brilliance
of the yellow sign