Each rising of the sun begins a day of awe, destined
to bring shock to those who can be shocked.
This day began in sunlight and, like other days,
soon fell beneath death’s shadow.
The darkness crossed Manhattan and the globe,
the crashing planes, tall towers bursting into flame.
The hurtling steel into steel and glass endlessly played
on the nightly news until imprinted on our brains
People lurching from the burning towers, plunging
like shot geese to the startled earth beneath.
But such death is not extraordinary in our world of grief,
born anew each brief and sunlit day.
White flowers grow from bloodstained streets
and rain falls gently, gently in defiance, not defeat.
