Seraphic

Outside of my door
and across the rolling fields
there is
a man
who
killed
an
eight
month
old
girl.

What scintillating rage,
cultured fury,
abandoned black grace
compels one to
quiet a nascent spark?

Her eyes,
now still.

Her gaze,
now black.

Her forward going,
now stopped.

The whisper of the wind
her advocate.
The stars,
her witness.

Pallid justice,
a meager comfort.

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Sparrow

Who will answer this little sparrow,
its eye cast towards indifference.
A passing-by during
your final sunny day.
Wrecked coil, silent breath
your eye locked with mine.
Whirl of pedestrians,
skirts and phones and dogs and brooms.
Careless wanderings, shared fate.
Your sorrowful end a bridge
to an abandoned beginning.
I will mourn you, rampantly so.
I will glorify your death with my pale insipidness.