Ballast

blood marks the road
where the animal left its life behind,
in a red stain
that the rain will wash away.
fall of night foretold,
sky colors like a bruise,
and i think of ones i used to know and
of paths they had to choose.
for we are born and we remain forever
trapped inside our heads.
no human chords are struck
without a resonance in other lives,
but the echoes we hold onto seem
as arbitrary as the times.
for we are born and will remain.