Wrathful, bitter, and confused
We know what is best,
We take what cannot be replaced.
Miscarriage of ecumenical Justice,
I am not sorry that it wasn’t me
To shape you.
But you can shape me into
What could have been
If I can possibly begin to bend
We live to forget
We love with our existential debt
Grasping at what we can’t remember
Though it will remember us.
Buried beneath breathing tombstones
We were once here, too.