At last there was a sorrow
we could not throw a rope on.
The barn burners
left cuff links in the ash.
The funereal nimbus appeared.
This was the ticket
no one wanted, a nightmare
out of left field.
We were chained by the memory
and imprisoned in silence.
Each time a bird flew
we thought of the enemy.
A moat of tears
and an army of smoke
were no protection
from a vast broken ideal.