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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=432124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Precision</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=432124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The day you flew in perfect arc <br>from your motorcycle was the same day <br>I broke the perfect formation of your women <br>at the railing, leaving behind <br>your grandmother and mother, to run <br>and jump the fence. The stop watch hanging <br>from my neck, suspended between gravity <br>and momentum, swung its perfect pendulum. <br>All our motion was brought to conclusion <br>by your broken body at rest <br>on the ground. Your breath never rose <br>to the oxygen placed on your face <br>and your heart never rallied <br>to the arms pressing your chest. <br>You wore the perfect clothes: <br>the ashy grey of death. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=432124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">At the hospital they said your failure to survive <br>was complete. Though I never saw <br>the neck you perfectly broke or your body <br>cleanly draped by a sheet, I did see <br>your dead face bruising up at me <br>and for lack of something to touch, <br>I touched the stop watch <br>which had not died. <br>If any nurse or doctor had asked, <br>I could have told, exactly, <br>to the hundreths of seconds, how long <br>it had been since I'd seen you alive. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=432124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Submitted by Jt</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Laurie+Duesing">Laurie Duesing</a></strong></div>