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

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