The Young Dead

[jdowd]

Tell me where are the children? Tell me
where are their voices to fill windowless rooms? Tell me where
do their teeth spark wood piles to firey dance?

In the arms of a dying church, walls cracked,
floor a puzzle of glass, I found
one.
The song on her oceanic lips was a soldier's,
her eyes shards of blue stained glass
glued together.
In a red tear she wrote her story.