Crime & Republic

The Crime

We lived by the trees,
Under mountain shades,
Unknown to the Sun
And headlines.

I remember rosehip
Jam thickly laid on
Bread like laughter
On my teeth.

I remember the
Strong grip of my
Brother’s hand like
The fear in my feet.

I remember the mud
Where bodies lay
Like smears of loss
On our flag.

I remember charcoal-
Covered faces like
The dark history
I later read.

I remember lines
Of soot in grass
Like blood sent
To a collapsed vein.

I remember crows
Descending by graves
Like tears over
Nature of men.




The Republic

All day I’ve been in the republic of trees
Puzzled by the presence of ambitious beings 
That do not claim to know a thing:
A conifer, seemingly resigned to solitude
Moss that would not grow, except on all things, 
And for its ubiquity, goes barely noted by my eye.
Here, ambition is warmth-seeking, sun-chasing, 
Is appetite for fertile soils, to rise and be — 
Not a thing here harbors illusions of majesty
Or bears an insecurity of their slightness,
Not a thing minds itself with import
Or wastes time minding itself at all,
Nothing is tucked behind borders or walls
Yet everything peacefully remains,
And I, too, give up the struggle for understanding 
As best I can, to surrender to awe,