Keith Montesano
What we want can be provided, if only we wait, & wait
for what we never deserved, like the sound of bullets
cascading off bricks in this alley, & not of bullets,
but the echo between buildings, as I imagine all of us
watching, curtains drawn, each man methodically
writhing, forefinger on the trigger, nothing spoken
from anyone: watching, shooting, falling. To have faith
is a wash these days: we know this. To look & see
each man falling is what my nightmares brought
to my home, my wife, my children, & everyone else
staring out their window then: in this, never away
from this, never away from trying to find something
miles down the road, in another state, another country,
another place where we understand little of all we see.