byLance Henson
from far down river the echoes of cities
you are returning and there are no sweet winds
to hold you
no fields to see you remembering
not even the pale moon
that once remembered everythingoutside the window the light is moving away
the tracks of animals holding themselves for the last timethe gathering night full of stillness … …
we have waited a long time
in our prayers we have lit lamps though the words
that know us have turned awayothers without the hope of prayer have
walked past us and lain downtheir voices fallen into the rivers …
awakening to bullets shattering lives
on the streets of kosovo and kabultheir names rise up
in a misted rain
they put their hands upon our eyes
that have grown lonely and searchingin this torn place
a leaf falls leaving its shadow on the windand the birds in their songs …