Into Blur

Another shocking crime.
Similiar victims. Women.
Trampled. We break eggs;
nothing disappears.

It feels like nothing. Like a blur,
like a string of smoke unfurled.
Either way, we curl fetal,
guitar-shaped, guilt-filled.

There is flame, shadow, art,
wound, mouth, body, dark-


When my questions reach you,
indecipherable, simple,
is it soul that traces shape
or unearthed, long dead words

that perfectly disguise bruised
and upturned prayers- a remedy

for plunder, feast and fear?

When a man falls into a mountain,
soot-colored throat, blind disaster
rushing down, the distant rain
like winter fur wistful, sad, invisible

is brightness swallowed?

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