So many dead

So many dead

The sun is going down again
Behind the hills and the bridge
Is on fire for a long moment
The wreckage of the world
Is terribly visible and then
Nothing I need more than
This more than soft bread
And water more than salt
In my hand to throw
Over my shoulder more
Than the incantations
That spill from me unbidden
Beads of glass shattering
On the pavement
Where the light will catch them
When it rises if it rises again

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