I watch anger incarnate, hard
as machine,
my words with gills for lungs
left gasping on sand.
They fight with tools
of our mortality while
I breathe rain to extinguish
smoldering homefire hate.
My sadness windows out
needles of glass first--
why can't species-us,
brilliant us
stop the fighting?
Bend low, take cover,
gather glass.J. Pratt-Walter
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