in our town--innocents
gunned down in their doorways
or in school halls; or radiations
black outlines, three crosses
marked a sisters chest: no wonder
we walk in quiet rage, musing
And who, on this road, will join us,
of the worst news in the neighborhood,
but spelling out the history of the prophets
and a future:
Ought not Christ to have suffered these things
and to enter into his glory?
Could our hearts still burn within us?
Will we ask the stranger to stay?
Break bread? And how
will our well-hammered and nailed
kitchens and bedrooms appear to us
when we understand who he is
just as he steals away?