Time has been reduced to bone among dust.
A young boy kneeling on the ground, wailing
no one to console him.
When he stops crying he’s no longer anyone’s child.
We turn to each other to ask what could be done—
what might have been, if only…
and what can you say to the ones now left to live?
Our lips too capable of mouthing silence.
Lowered eyes and empty words that creep like ivy—
watch them leap from breath to breath into cold air.
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