i thought i could write, but then you came along,
and i realized i didn't understand
anything
at all.

it tastes like quiet, here
the trees watch and do not
movespeakbreathe -
they do not tell the curious sky
what is changing below

it tastes like quiet, here
eighteen species of birds
gone deaf from this silence,
and thirty more
who have forgotten their song

it tastes like quiet, here
shining goldgreengray with
the darkest of clouds

it tastes like quiet, here
and it is so easy
to forget yourself:
impose the heart on forests
and leave it behind

and it tastes like quiet, you think
but you do not remember
knowing anything else

the day is filled with ghosts.
the living rest at night,
when dead laughs are silenced
by shadows of the stars.

all that glisters is not gold,
for the moon shines a silver
brighter than this sun.

(there are churches left standing in war zones.)

there are churches left standing in war zones and
they're a symbol
of far-off war-torn places
because destruction is universal.

(blood stains the walls
but they are still holy
and still there.)

there are churches left standing in war zones on
the front page of newspapers,
shouting numbers and figures
but never tragedy.

(there is nothing more powerful
than a bombed-out miracle.)

there are churches left standing in war zones because
soldiers know that in churches
words cut deeper than bullets,
than bayonets,
and the destruction of that power
would be atomic bomb
ground zero
hiroshima nagasaki
hundreds dead and
decades of fallout.

(hospitals and morgues are gone.
the church still stands.)

there are churches left standing in war zones
filled with dust and rubble
and blood and death and dying
and faith screaming for hope
and the church is still standing
but nothing
else
breathes.

(and the church watches war
and she laughs.)