Tensegrity

Found dead on the border
in limbo of Nevada and California
Route 190 West, just past the sign
Her hand clasped tight to his
Continued into the night: rigor mortis
And on the upper part of his thigh
a handprint, imprinted in pink
indicating her grip on the curve of his
leg, as he pressed to speed up
then against the break at the curves
She lay smiling, head up against
the niche of his pectoral and bicep
He has, not the look of dying,
but the smooth satisfaction of having just lived
as if
he had just created life there before the sign
Christened the car with a lovely duet
to their own Eulogy

One wonders what they were doing in
Death Valley, in the pitch black of night
what turns they could have missed
curves and swerves not just left
but down and up, through terrain
unknown to the eyes:
Too dark to see
Gripped hands are tense
Tickling ambivalence
in their senses
She probably wondered whether
she should be thrilled or
chilled at the speed, the lack
of perception
Sight, Hearing, Taste, Smell
Absent
She became more acutely aware
of the clutching touch
As soon as she realized
the depth of this sense
It was stripped away.

He abruptly snatched his hands
to the wheel, just before the crash.
Just before their bodies bounced forward
then back.
The car hood, where they had loved before,
smashed into their abdomens
The imprint, the hands, the touch
Come together in a consummate
Coda of love