the crater where we live shows
that an explosive heart once was set off here.
no one knows the names of all those
who were there when it blew apart.
the names of all those who became alarmed
at their disappearance are unknown.
that said, we must acknowledge
that there are oceans of blood in the soil
where we live because
it’s all we have ever experienced.
we can’t see over the walls
to the things that may be out there.
whether it was always meant to be this way
is irrelevant to the limitations we face.
if it ought to be another way,
if another way is still possible, we can’t say.
crater walls limit what words we know.
walls keep us from even asking for more.
many of us don’t even know
the crater is a crater.
if we do we think time and erosion
have leveled it to memory alone.
anyone who has been to the walls knows better.
they come back and point to them,
then lay hands upon the soil at our feet
to bring the blood up oozing
onto our shoes. they try to tell us
but we can’t seem to understand
that everything old is still new.
the ticking we hear is not an echo.
fire in the hole.