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Disaster Response



we bow

before disaster,

our eloquence

flown away, like birds,

in sudden flight.



our words inadequate

against the night

descending like

“a blind angel with black wings”

into the light

of our ordinary lives.


Unspeakable sorrow

wanders the dark tomorrow

in shadows cast 

by the pale gleaming

of memories past,


seeking an answer, heard

like a bell ringing, faintly

or a bird, singing 

far away in the twilight

like a star.






















can never balance horror.


Joy is a larger cup,

half empty, yet half full,

that we hold

when we hold

hands, or one another

enfolded, or in prayer.


The answer lingers there

like incense in the air, or

the taste of salt,

when tears recede

from the ruined shorelines

of our faces,


when we finally hold

the overflowing cup

of  tears, turning into wine

distilled from memories past,

our once and future years

beyond time at last.





















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