Cries

They see, eyes carded with migrating lights
Don't ask what they see
There are bodies that let themselves be opened in the window on a day of music
There are the faces melted into the cyanide of the lie
There's rain that wets the sidewalks and our hair. There's the wind.
There's the sea

There are the cries torn from the lips 
There are those who let their men's scales fly in the toxic air
And sullied by thirst. There are waves for lack of ripples inhabit the strike
With footmarks
There are the bleeding embraces that mature the heart towards infinity
There are walls that grow in our hands like weeds

There are voices that proclaim freedom, that derails the trains of life
There are the dead of today and those of tomorrow
Their souls will dance with the dawn
In the sad sky of several puny stars of clarity

There is: Silence
There is: Gaza
There is: Hope
There are bridges that connect dreams
There are the tense flake kisses it looks like fruit on their branches to the ground

There are words. There's the pen. There's poetry