the presence of forgetfulness

certainly, the ruined globe
belongs on the grand plaza
of memory

surrounded, as in paradise,
by a circular fountain
tilting downward towards a
regenerative drain

revenge is exhausting––
we can no longer
remember
how to end
a war

we founder
because we’re no longer
fighting for ideals
we understand or believe
in––

we’re too blinded
by anger to
recollect
who or how many
we hate

what is the difference
between the shadows
of our selves & of
our enemies?

terror is the practice
of meaningless
killing
& pointless
sacrifice

let us lay our selves
down with our arms
spread out like snow angels
on the endless
pavers
of oblivion

maybe our suffering
will seep back into
the unconditional womb
of mother earth

or sublime
like forgiveness
into the prayerful
breathing of father
heaven