(we live with a God who plays with sentient fire)
who was it took your front page and made it yesterday
who was it, who was it that stole in velvet slippers,
as patient as the Centuries he lives in,
and took from our flesh children, love, harmony, future
who was it that wouldn’t confront us, but wouldn’t back down
neither,
his face like a rock, covered with moss, working in silence,
who was it that uprooted the tree and made us live upside down
you fear death, and i long for it,
in the dark we smell it on each other,
you know who it was, and is, and will be
you simply lack the language,
or the concept,
or the image
(but you know)
and i, i have been cursed,
or blessed,
and know right well
the leg, the foot, the shoe
that left this print
we
die
