dark ages

the air is heavy

with new burnings

smoke clots

in our nostrils

our words,

beaten on an anvil

of discontent,

reshape into expressions

of hate

fear heaps fuel

on the funeral pyre

of trust,

of reason

each syllable of speech

ignites,

basks in a temporary warmth;

we search through ash

for what remains

our fingers leave charcoal prints

on what we touch

on what touches us

the heart aches,

this time in wonder:

that it should be

the lingual achievement

of our species

that so divides us

a peal of prayer rings out,

unheard

unheeded

like a virus released

from ice melt

dark ages revisit

barbarians are among us

we walk to meet them