WHITE SEPTEMBER SKY
How did it look to them
in the first frozen second of the brand new war,
when sky and fire opened the walls?
Vengeance is not enough.
Sometimes it seems the dead are waiting,
ghost riders paused in shock before they go on
to wherever they go.
They want us to see what they saw,
as their exploded memories began to unravel
through the air, until only the air remained.
We watched the clouds they became,
their dust filling our eyes, our lungs, our blood.
We breathe them in, we have no choice,
and their blood flows in us, as we move, stately,
into the passion of war, the romance of revenge.
But some remembered, in that second at the window,
lovers, children, all the white Septembers of joy.
Bless them in the middle of fire, bless their blood,
heroic, that we bring to war, bless their final end.
Vengeance is not enough. They wait for peace.
