As he lay
in the pool of his death
the motorcycle continuing on
a little further without him
before it too
lay down
as if to sleep
he thought the blood
was like a child
wetting the bed
and the fear of
someone discovering it
in the cold light
of morning
he began
to cry
just like the boy
of then
though this was now
and very far
from the place
of his childhood
even as the stink
of petrol
enveloped him
a bird sang