Thinking about the Enemy

In the beginning we could hear their swords cutting jewels

From the protected orchard while our children heard fine teeth

Dragging along empty granary floors. Between us and them

Stands the great wound, swallowing all tears, all voices.

Transfixed or transformed by this pain? We never know because

Who can slip through the gate without throwing a shadow

Toward both the past and present? Fire, flood, famine—

All we've wished upon them a thousand times, still they inch

Back and taunt us with their persistence. We track them down

To a quick end. More come. And the old memories grow new.

The future seems already written with a pen of iron. The book

Unreadable, immense. The enemy has become our masterpiece.