May 8, 2007

When We Let Go

So that each is a feather of
a peacock wing: the bodies laying sprawled
on the Palestina ground. The limbs.
The bone and flesh, neither fresh
nor dried. Here is the sun that splays
them. Here, each like a bridge,
are my arms, hands palm-turned as if
to baptize or to preach: We love you,
the way God loves you. No word is
needed. Out of defeat and acceptance,
both, I do nothing to save you, not
as a rebel but as a guard that start doing
the right thing. I hold you, and now
I release, let you warm the earth with
your body before you turn cold
and enter the sky the way, once, naked,
you entered /the sea. The cattails
bending, unbending. What was becomes
what is. Nothing really changes, in time.

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