September 11

And heavy like a hand of steel
death slammed down on the heads
of its chosen.  Every skull a clap
of bone and light.  Every soul
a ribbon twisting around the other

reaching up and out.

And sound, not like sound
a brilliant star exploding into many
pieces- singing, crying, shouting,
breathing.  Remembering who
they'd been and what their hearts

had given.

Then dry, fine dust was all
they left for those they loved-
a cloud of dream and hope
and freedom.

How Quickly Love

Deceive me, heart
and weep as if the world
will pity what we've lost.

How vulnerable are the stars
whose eyes cut out, whose
feet are bleeding.  Now

who will feed them?

And the frozen wolf
whose silver hair a nest
of ice and mud, compare

his hunger to our love,
the cold, the fear, the constant
hunting.  How quickly

he grabs the throat
and kills.

The Struggle

Every year there is a new winner; the prize
for bathing in light is light.  The losers
continue to struggle towards an open window,
a crack in a door, a small hole in the ceiling.

Struggle to escape, to find joy.

Those who capture joy for awhile
become drunk with happiness.  Their words
like weak cracks of thunder while
around them clouds gathering thick

and black, prepare lightening.