by Renee Lyons
August 6, 1945
Our words almost
spoken, leaning over the edges
of our lips, ready to fall,
our eyes gazing forever
straight ahead, our legs
bending and stretching,
but always still.
Here, the glass moment closes
on eternity like a giant mouth. Here,
we find time enough to fold
our memories into origami hearts, to dream
our lifetimes over again,
to memorize the bricks in a building,
the stitches in a coat.
Suddenly, heat, as if all
the tired, fearful souls
were shaking the city
into a choleric fever,
but we never feel the burn,
our lungs still waiting to gasp,
our hearts still waiting to beat,
our throats still waiting to scream.
Now light: the fires of the sun
fill up our sight.
We stare into God’s eyes
and his heart swells up, bursts.
The streets run red with his blood,
and I fall through to the dark side of life.