mcmurray

country lands burn
but for churches between;

red eyes in
the trees, smoke
rotundas
seizing
daylight above,

converting suns to
sorrowful
measures
and starscapes to
raining dust

no fingers to
point, ‘less there’s one for
us all; for the
eyes that
we’ve taken,
half-blind’s the new
hallmark.

you can’t attack one part and
not expect the
sum to ache.

you can’t hit us in the chest
and anticipate
numbness,

but when
the blood flows again,
we will be triumphant.

For now, we house
our judgement
but also
its wards,

hordes of our heartbreak

in a dark horse race with
scarcely afforded
seconds.

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