Fifteen Million


Earth reels to cold night
yet everything
the same.

I wait for morning
when grey light
might brighten
somber skies.

Another day’s lies.

I don’t understand
my sadness,
for my life is good,
full of love and rich in faith.

So why do these clouds
hold me fast
in this dark place?

I observe winter’s brutal grip
squeeze tender spring leaves
and curse with frost new-flowering trees.

I understand how the wading white bird
startled by blare of a frantic train
might die from panic
where she stands.

But mostly I see
how ruin fills my nation’s streets
with yard-signs
on fifteen million


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