What Confounds Us...

God never said:
you will survive-

whose house remains,
what dust settles here

in such a windstorm?

Even our windows cloud,
our freshest fruit rots,

the flies gather,
excited and they fall

like tiny, black specks
of disassembled star-

how darkness collects
like birds at end of day,

huddled, homesick
and afraid.

The world begins
in the middle of the night-

we cannot hide from
what confounds us.