for Deah, Yusor, and Razan
Too many times I have written
this poem: blood a dark ink,
moon a bullet hole.
My tongue flaps useless
as a bird. The words
come, they choke me.
Somewhere, always, smoke.
Somewhere, always, something
burning, something snuffed.
The sun set again,
bled like a wound.
I stood; nothing could
move me. The world went on
spinning tiredly, & like that
I survived another day.
I breathe & life
keeps coming.
It feels simple enough
that I know to be suspicious.
Tonight, dark as a flint chip, candles
each a pinprick. I swallow
a flame within me,
shelter it as the sky
dons her black veil.
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