Wreckage

Is it the end?
A car curled around a tree,
a sleepless night waiting,
a man walks out the door,
black clothes and shadows
surround a deep hole.

Fast forward:
A car spray-painted
bright colors, embraced
in green-leafed branches,
a new man walks in,
flowers and laughter
chase away shadows.

Not the end,
a new birth.
Beauty beams out
of the wreckage.

published in the Survival issue of Pine Cone Review 

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