War

Each person is singular 

like the whorled skin

of their fingerprint 

and if there is 

a crime against heaven

and the gods

it is in their unnecessary destruction 

by war or by crushing the individual spirit 

running them callously through 

a pencil sharpener 

until only the eraser 

is left.

Jaroslav is in Ukraine 

five days of war 

five days without a photograph 

the window of his sight 

the world of his vision

are gone

because of the tyranny of men

who think the world should be theirs

I hope that he is safe

and I hope that he is building 

Molotov cocktails.

Tata is still posting photographs 

each day I look to see

if she is still there 

to reach for the internet 

to share the image of a flower

or the sky of the third day

and the fourth day

and the fifth day

I know that schools and houses 

are not safe

I know that women and children 

are not safe

and I cannot make them so

by wishing.

This poem will have no 

photograph because 

the darkness of conflict 

is settling upon my friends 

until I cannot see them

and I am afraid 

that the starlight of their gifts 

will be snuffed out

and the inhumanity of this

is such a great shadow 

that I do not know

how to fight it except 

as a witness 

helpless but with my

eyes held open.