This child next to me
knows nothing yet
of bombs and flesh
rendered cinders
in the swirling blood
storm pounding down
across deserts and
mountains, down
broken highways,
over burning cities;
this man made violence
the atmospherics
of daily toil, monsters
of imagination roaring
to life. In the thunder
of our undoing, how do
I explain to her why
we didn’t stop it?
Source