from What Space Is For

A Short Essay on Poetry and Violence

The question lies before us: can a word

remain for the moment

looping on the in-flight documentary,

the gesture of the field chaplain

as he kneels beside the dark, slowing shape

then rocks back on his haunches

hands clasped & pale &

shaking like a small deer’s heart,

the shadow of his lips moving

softly as the fluttering of eyelids

among the shattered trees in that

pain-sealed moment that never comes

& then it comes & far off now

the artillery sound like starlings

–first published in International Poetry Review