we have built
this silence
ourselves
both of us clutching
talismans
in an unfamiliar country
the dogs with a language
the children smiling
but riddled with hatred
some of us pointing guns
others bleeding
and the question is god
the question is
the emptiness of the sky
on any given january
afternoon
there is room enough
beneath it
for all of us to be
wrong
************
prev published in Stickman Review
