the night of the car wreck, after he got the phone call, he ran.

he ran straight away from the house, straight into the woods, ran in the dark, ran as his legs burnt and ran until he couldn't, until his body collapsed.

for the first time, in a long time, he ran without the words.

the earth smelled heavy and he pushed his face deep into it, felt the grains against his cheeks.

he blinked and dirt got his eyes.

he cried.

the words slowly started filtering in.

do not go gentle.

do not go gentle.

do not go gentle.

his chest hurt, his chest was tired of breathing, he could inhale the earth, inhale it and it would move down his throat, hit his diaphragm, fill it up.

he could become dirt.

how do you move on, after the death?

how are you able to walk through the grocery store and see that food, the one that only she liked, and not break down, not begin to tremble and begin to remember her smile and laugh, the way her eyes crinkled and the way she loved that chubby baby?

but he didnt think about that, not then. he would, early the next morning, waking up on his back, on a stick, in the woods.

he had passed out after yelling into the ground.

the sun was not up yet, the sky was empty of moon.