the times

it is hard to remain human on a day when birds perch weeping in the trees and the squirrel eyes do not look away but the dog ones do in pity. another child has killed a child and i catch myself relieved that they are white and i might understand except that i am tired of understanding. if this alphabet could speak its own tongue it would be all symbol surely; the cat would hunch across the long table and that would mean time is catching up, and the spindle fish would run to ground and that would mean the end is coming and the grains of dust would gather themselves along the streets and spell out: these  too  are  your  children     this  too  is  your  child