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.
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