how far across must one walk
to find a home where the sun burns hotter
than the fires do?
passages
across the sand
for miles and miles and miles
my soles have never touched there
where they came from nor
the city i pray to
but they remember
the walking
they remember the running
and the vibration
the pounding of the ground
flattened
bodies left prostrated
silenced
with a mouthful of dirt
where does war go when it stops?
to the fibers of your progeny
to the roots of the olive tree
into a world only our children can see
stories will change forever
and forever again
devastation
imprisons me in the crumbling bricks of our lovespace
and i will cry for you
the way that our grandmothers
cried of the violence
flooding the land with sea water
in the end, no truth can come from it
it will be bleached in the sun
with the corpses, its remains
picked at
by scavengers
stories that will change with the stones
because the truth dies in love letters
left behind between boulders
in the world that our children don’t see
how will truth matter then,
when the maps upon which we live
are a lie?
names become impermanent
temples crumble
revolutions grow old and tired
what remains is what always remains
haaretz, scorched and sickly
from watering Eden with blood
to find a home where the sun burns hotter
than the fires do?
passages
across the sand
for miles and miles and miles
my soles have never touched there
where they came from nor
the city i pray to
but they remember
the walking
they remember the running
and the vibration
the pounding of the ground
flattened
bodies left prostrated
silenced
with a mouthful of dirt
where does war go when it stops?
to the fibers of your progeny
to the roots of the olive tree
into a world only our children can see
stories will change forever
and forever again
devastation
imprisons me in the crumbling bricks of our lovespace
and i will cry for you
the way that our grandmothers
cried of the violence
flooding the land with sea water
in the end, no truth can come from it
it will be bleached in the sun
with the corpses, its remains
picked at
by scavengers
stories that will change with the stones
because the truth dies in love letters
left behind between boulders
in the world that our children don’t see
how will truth matter then,
when the maps upon which we live
are a lie?
names become impermanent
temples crumble
revolutions grow old and tired
what remains is what always remains
haaretz, scorched and sickly
from watering Eden with blood