where we came from,
where we're going
So that we don't know who to blame.
Instead we offer our pain
to mama earth:
ceremonial rain,
hands to bury
new life
in the ash,
Believing the unseen
but not when it comes to people
experiencing
places we've never been,
where birth follows death
and not the other
way in.
Homicidal rage is betrayed
in the smallest requests,
for the world, merely silent,
must be against us,
And on the streets, where the succulents
are barely noticed amid the homeless.
They are the gifts that later centuries
will bow against, but now
They shiver with faces held down,
muttering incomprehensibles
that break your heart,
inflame your brain,
wishing only it will go away
Like any mystery spoiled
when revealed.
