The children have no idea
of the science of hate or
the earth's deep sex wound,
all the generations with flesh
burned to skull, their legs and
arms gone, nipple and genital.
Eyes, mouth, ears – gone.
The universe must tremble
above this fruited plain
though it doesn't show
in the photograph. This is
the silence of after . This is
the gathering of pieces.
One child leads the other,
looks off slightly to the right
into deep wood as he walks.
The one who follows gives
no thought to where she's going.
Her look is straight ahead.
I can't say what gilded light
or blinding path it is
that swallows them both,
that leaves nothing but
shadow prints to say
they were ever even there.