Can you tell? By looking?
The magnification of a life
wound around loom, unable to
speak its journey, then; without words
cleave to fear, smother sanity
reduce into molecule, back to primordia
the child says; I am afraid and the world replies
HUSH and presses fingers to scolding lips
we learn early, truth is fluid though it is not
cruelty is omnipresent, kindness rare but lingering
like a sunset you once saw with someone you loved
the warmth of their hand; c’était un sans faute
until it was not. Can you really tell? By looking?
When we stumble toward endings with unwilling
arms reaching back in time, no, not yet
will memory preserve the heart of the sun? Or shall the
timbered voice of moon solace terror
with its gentle rise in otherwise sightless night.