Cinderblocks, every wheel lifted into heaven,
Axle cracked, and all of its safety glass shattered,
No gas cap, instead he would stuff this rag inside it,
Loose tail pipe, odometer pointing toward the twilight,
Toward all the angels nodding and folding their wings before the decline of day.
Heartless car, your broken down engine, ruined pistons,
Smallest star, part of the biggest constellation,
Curling horns emerge from the foreheads of all the mechanics,
Mechanical angels, chosen, tucked in by virgins, met with a spectral charm.