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from within a shelter comes a forest comes a
time to stand within ourselves.

we envelop in silence, in silver in
slivers of something not quite heard or motioned to,
nodding heads and minutes wasting away and all

shall we wash our hands of it?

We can pretend we are not moved. We can
remain unmoved as
metal pierces the heart of
a child barely dead.

We can cry false hysteric heroics
unto ourselves
"We are free!"

How far can we fall? The lesions of
darkened lots where we
stand and wait for deliverance, will
they fail us?

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