when we hear the sudden and sure silence
permeating the air blowing locusts
will we fall to our immaculate knees,
skin softer than an infant’s
and let our hearts split
louder than Nietzsche’s deathbed screams

will we cry out then?
“I’ve been born again”
like philosophers and Nobel laureates
who have peddled their souls for champagnes of dignity
desperate like Thomas
the shameless homeless
the one I see daily on 42nd and 6th
holding a cardboard sign that reads:
“homeless. Former heroine addict.
Need food to survive and start again.”

we give the same excuse
we preach to ourselves
as our sons and daughters
pray for our souls behind closed doors
begging us about second lives
over bacon, eggs, and a child’s desperation

will it be too late to talk then?
will we grasp the orphan’s eyes then?