We are not at war. We are divided, with precarious peace and with such a perilous future for so many. But this is not war.
From 9/11, remembering, it could be otherwise.
we have candles,
and beautiful music
earnest words are said
and people in rows of chairs
await the appropriate moment
these things are to be expected
in a church.
but no one is married, dedicated
or otherwise joined.
no cherished memory is offered,
no homily of pain or joy
we sit in our joint solitude
the pretense of politics is folded under chairs
leaving only each other
to cushion the expected blow.
we count lives and begin the bargain
if-then against so what,
find blame and its futility, and end
merging wishing into prayer.
we join now the ancient race,
full with waiting
at the coming of war