Friday

We hear of the death of a man.
By key stroke. Counting
Another number. This could be you.
This could be me.

We hide the death of a child.
Deep in the womb. Living
Uneasy. Murdering easy.
Handful of shining clink.

We bear the death of a land.
In black smoke. Coughing. Uprooting
Breath. Limbs limp with fever.
Closed in prayer.

We fear the death of the Word.
By the book/podium/screen. Excising
Tongues. Tearing hearts.
Taped shut.

We hold the death of our God.
Deep in our hearts. Dying.
All that remains. Charred wood.
Grey ash.

—April 17, 2020