When do they come
these invisible people
roses in hand
monuments to grief
I never see them
tying the bouquet
to the traffic barrier
to the tree
I never see their pilgrimage
from the nearest rest stop
is it just the wives
the mothers
or does the whole family go
to the spot where the sky
swallowed the scream
of truck tires
as tall as his son
the night his father fell asleep
as the wind slid under his feet
while he spun
dreaming
of his beautiful
boy.