Like babies, maybe, vulnerable and hopeful
God send us more goodness
Or maybe they thought about sex
Or taxes or or what snacks they would have next
Or their families. Maybe they thought
about their families.
And then, next, their blood
The selfsame blood that hurries
Under my fingertips that tap-type now
Was pulled out, on the floor, on the ground,
Out onto the Earth. Stolen from holy body-home
In which it should have still flowed.
May their memories
and so many memories
too many memories
be a blessing for different days.