What the Blue Race Might Say

The city is surrounded by pink sky;
So lightly the ascended leave marks behind
At the hard work humans do to herd
Their fellows with pinschers and fences
As if it's for them, and not their own, benefit ...

Else the whole thing devolves to a hall of
Endless mirrors, where they must defend themselves
Against what they never know they've done,
And in trying to find the one to show their wound
They're lost like any sheep stray of the range.

It's all in a day: the pain we give that never
Goes away, and there are things that one
Could say to help them tack: "I understand,
You had my back, your cause is just, even sound" ...

But mostly it requires a kind of silence

Like the one that shines this time of year
From lights aloft in trees, of white forgiveness
For the crime of being in the dark.
The sky edges into evening
— Perhaps there might have been a word.