We took your food and in a few days you'll see we took your excrement. We've devised such intricate rules. We've agreed, signed papers. We took the papers. We took your pain, your dignity. We took your language and watched as religion fell from you. We took your death, strung it as a jewel on a silver
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It is nice to be without answers
at the end of summer.
Wind lifting leaves from branches.
The moment laid down like something
in childhood and forgotten, until later,
when stumbled upon, we think:
this is where it was lost.
The sadness isn't their sadness.
The sadness is the way
they will never unpack the rucksack
of happiness again.
They'll never surface as divers rising
through leagues of joy, through sun
willowing through the bottom half of waves.
They'll never surface again.
Again and again,
they will never surface.