TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2002

Here is where hate ends.
Follow the string
around a corner,
down an alley,
through a blue sky.
In smoke and fire,
ashes and dust.

Twisted bits of steel and bone.
Clouds, holes, blood.
Broken.
Torn.
This is where hate lives.

Spirits loose.
Tears,
choking,
ghosts,
cracked.
Shadows
white on white.
And no one sleeps anymore.

Here is where hate ends.

Where does my hate end?
Where does my hate go?
My daughter lies on her side in bed,
one hand behind her head,
the other on her cheek.
Her eyelids flutter
and her breath comes softly, in rhythm,
sighing, pelagic.

I kiss her forehead,
and taste the salt of her sweat.
She stirs and I leave.
I shut off the hall light
and go downstairs.