Before the Altar, We Pray (a poem)

Before the altar, we pray
To gods of the forest-night
They hear us in our anguish

Remove us from televised carnage
And mass murder of dreams
In America, nothing is as it seems

We trek to the forest at nightfall
By light of neon and longing
It smells of fire-smoke and dust

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What Heaven Looks Like (a poem)

You forget there are places like this:

A quiet bay with still water and a wide expanse,

the sun shining in a cloudless blue sky, and

seagulls calling overhead.

From the sandy shore, you watch the old man

cast a fishing net and the teenagers lounging

with headphones on.

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