Apella

This morning, a light

so full, so complete

we might ask why

the god of sun

is also god of plague,

why the god of healing

also god of archery.

The children under trees—

unaware their hearts

have become targets

red and inflamed

as the eyes of men in thrones—

find sticks in the grass

to fashion into guns. Some brandish

a branch-saber. They are sniping

the golden light

with squinting faces.

And everywhere

they do not look,

fences and more fences.

There are no arrows

to point the way

as they scythe

through a woods or dart

between cars in parking lots.

The miles of fence-links grow

more & more impassable

even as the children try

to follow the voices

calling them now, at first

with tenderness and then

with fierce intensity.