The Passage
janine canan
To Robbie Lamming
This suffering,
this ritual sorrow of woman --
by adding yours to mine,
do I lessen our pain?
Outside the airplane
cobbled clouds pave the sky.
Oh, where are we going?
This violent movie on the screen --
muscles, guns, shouting --
is this entertainment for hell?
The world is whole, yet broken
minds stutter and rave.
Again! the tyrant mocks.
His story, however, is ending.
A new song soars -- burning, dazzling.
And softly falls like snow.
Nesting a moment,
suddenly it flies free.
Clouds part, revealing
rivers widening to the sea,
vast forests of evergreen, and beings -- are they
human? -- of such astonishing grace.
