All stories, as they reach their end, are sad.
The rain comes; the night falls; Malone dies alone.
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length…
And my mother, who at her death
Called out to her sister Ozra,
Has not yet let go of
My own sister’s hand.
Suleimani was not a “bad” man. Killing him was morally wrong, probably illegal and certainly a catalyst for much future bloodshed.
We speak in circles,
Sock-monkeys one and all,
able to say what we are told.
What if peace is really based on pragmatism, and war on fantasy?