What a strange thing
\nnot to know who you are,
\nfind a cemetery full of bones.
\nAn illusion to say the universe remembers.
\nHow it keeps track of faces and hearts.
\nOh, if a cataclysm found me,
\nwhat would be left?
\nHow much was love worth?
\nWho could hear me cry without lips?
\nTouch them without fingers?<\/p>\n
I read a sad letter this morning
\nhow my brother died in battle.
\nInstantly.
\nTo my mother who died in grief, slowly.
\nTo me who never heard his voice again
\nsince I was a child.<\/p>\n
And yesterday when it closed,
\nwhy I said a prayer
\nwithout one true church to hear me,
\nand found no fault with whatever is,
\ngiving praise innocently
\nto what is and is not,
\nwithout knowing what I am
\nor should be.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
What a strange thing not to know who you are, find a cemetery full of bones. An illusion to say the universe remembers. How it…<\/p>\n