When first light breaks, the drapes
guard themselves
like wounded children,
whispering

There is no visible end
on which to latch.

Hatred shares
a wall with me,
shares
a callous countenance,
shares
a small, collapsing tear.

Much love to the one who wants it least;
they need it more than most.

Like rosaries
chanted
in an empty church,
I sing an impression of hope.