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Poetry

Nevertheless, the rain continued.
In dark doorways and under loading docks
men slept with cardboard and cold.

I said, “My heart is full with praising
your justice.” Still, the sniper drew in
a long terrible breath—or so I understand.

I said I was lonely for my old body
and my body became older still.
I said suffering had become too friendly

among us and that everyone had begun
to look like everyone else.
I said the various prophets were not much

listened to and that He should try some
other tack, that I had malign fears.
I said consequence was immeasurable.

I said, “Dear God, if you remember
me, remember us.”


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