“The bullet”
The bullet goes right by you
in the wake of its echo you count the wishes
you’re worn out waiting for—you absolve them
and say: maybe there’s more waiting to a lifetime.
The bullet goes right by you
so you sketch string and a paper plane
a child’s merciful fingers catch it
only to also be spared by chance
from the blood of the massacre.
The bullet goes right by you
you sleep an hour longer
you dream a rose grows
in the depths of your veins
and light rain falls on
the edges of the heart to
make room for the poem
the bullet goes right by you
shadow trees stretch out and doze off
like your forgotten grief over there
past the fence to the burial ground.
The bullet goes right by you
a dove shakes the stars from its wings
casting peace upon your darkened way.
The bullet goes right by you
and you smile for a lifetime
of living also delivered by
accident and chance.
