Axiom breath of dead lungs, the calm
bombastic births a delicate cacophony.
Imagine the illusion of incandescence,
mesmeric, effulgence over a chasm.
Juxtapose an artless, xenophobic
greeting, devoid of empathy, with a fire
-fighter holding a child in an old photograph.
How far beneath us is gratitude, dignity
of language, of verbal silk?
Can a knife be neutral in any hand?
Farewell my kaleidoscopic forgiveness,
reality supersedes trust underneath the bruise.
Yonder is the last civilization
in a zoo no one cares to visit.
“I hammer and turn, and everything I touch goes glass.
A mountain made of houses, all the walls and doors.
You don’t know what to say.
My mother watches. My father watches.
Where else would you go?
Someone imagines climbing through a window…”