i have my collections
the shells, the little stones,
things joy took me down for
they are precious in the smoke
of death, a hole in town
dug for history
don't say this war is holy
martyrs are assailed for goodness
lord knows
your bulging hatred cannot kill love
stay back, let the dogs bark up the living
the agony, as always, comes later,
a land of traps hidden as things
you've stooped to prize
after the World Trade Center attacks