in the marketplace, ripples of sun

A fog rolls in
with the January thaw,
outside my window the
Japanese maple. bare.
patches of snow cling
to the saturated ground

death hovers for some
nurses dart about. for others
the walls are closing in
gunshots stir the suffocating air
the ground shakes and
buildings fall
crush and maim.
the dying still
die, and some still live.
we ask for a simple
truth to hold precious in our
arms.
there are no easy deaths.

a gazelle is ripped apart by
hungry lions. talons
clutch while others flee to sing
another song.
the hunger of life breaks
its bread upon the water,
ripples of sun dance through the morning fog.